#and then the other part of my brain is like well logically the cost of living here is stupidly high and everyone is struggling

[chris-prank]

Ya i need to punish Dr. Seraph for ruining my plans/ripping my hero suit. Clothes are very expensive these days :(

So we tear his off and pound into him :3 !! ^^ ❤️❤️💯💯😍😍🔥🔥

Sub Yandere villain sidekick x Top GN hero reader

CW: NSFW, doggy style, top reader and slight teasing

So I got carried away and ended up writing around 1K words of smut…

Just like last time the reader is GN, it’s vague enough so you can choose if the reader has a dick or a strap-on.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

“Do you know how much it costs to make a superhero suit? And don’t even get me started on the anonymous fees!”

Real frustration could be heard in your voice as the unpleasant memories of dealing with your supplier came to mind. But you swiftly chased them away to focus back on the man tied up under you.

“I’m s-sorry, if I k-knew I would ha—”

You placed your finger on his lips, shutting him up immediately.

“I don’t want shallow excuses or explanations, I want you to repay me properly.”

Dr. Seraph looked up at you with confusion. He knew what your intentions were, you had made them abundantly clear, yet he couldn’t connect the dots. How is him being tied up with bondage tape directly related to destroying your suits? Furthermore, he was wondering why you even had bondage tape in the first place! The mad scientist wasn’t complaining of course, but it’s not like it was efficient to apprehend criminals in any way, except…

You must have brought it with you just for this specific outcome! That’s it! You had planned on taking him for yourself! Oh, how quickly he convinced himself this was the truth and how flattered he was about it. And no matter how insane this conclusion was, he was indeed right.

He waited for you to take your finger off him to ask for clarification, but before he could open his mouth you effortlessly flipped him on his stomach, making the man yelp. You weren’t finished as you grabbed his hips, pressing his backside against your pelvis. That was enough to make this genius's brain go blank. He was already turned on by the predicament he had found himself in, but now a primitive desire had taken over any sense of logic he still possessed.

“Since you seem to love ruining my superhero suits, I think it's time for me to do the same with your uniform. That's the only punishment I’ll accept.” You caress his waist back and forth before adding, “I’m sure you’re fine with that, right?”

“Mm..y-yes.” He responded with a feeble voice.

You smiled to yourself, happy that he was so responsive. You took a handful of the fabric in your fist and pulled. His pants ripped apart like paper, making you feel like you were unwrapping a birthday gift. You tore until every inch of his private parts was exposed. The man gasped at this vulgar sight and buried his head back into the pillow.

You, on the contrary, admired your work. In this position, Vincent had the most perfect arched back and his ruined pants gave him a particular disheveled look. Soon enough, you had taken off your suit from the waist down, tossing it to the side without a care. A rush of excitement came to you when you felt Dr. Seraph pressing himself against your groin while letting out subtle whimpers.

You grope both of his ass cheeks as a response, before spreading them apart. With precise movements, you poured lubricant on top of it and prevented it from leaking all the way down by spreading it on his asshole. You stopped and instead rubbed your tip against his entrance to make it wet as well. After you were done, It was slightly glistening in the dim light of the room. By now, his noises had gotten louder, his legs trembling in anticipation.

“Are you ready Vincent?”

Hearing you say his real name made his cock and hole twitch.

“P-please, p-put it in.” He whined, impatience filling his voice.

He had already put aside the fact that this was supposed to be a punishment. He didn’t care if you destroyed his clothes, he had other ones, but there was only one you. Hell, he would let you tear down his entire wardrobe if it meant he could be fucked by you every night.

You grab his hips with one hand, making sure he would stay up right, and you positioned yourself with the other to stuff him full. Vincent threw his head back and cried out a lewd moan as your cock disappeared in his ass. You weren’t even down to the base that he was already gripping the sheets, nails digging through it. You also noticed it had gone in easy, a bit too easy even considering the lub.

“Someone has been preparing himself for me.” You teased, sinking deeper inside him.

Blood shot directly to the man’s face and to his cock, much to his embarrassment. He was already rock-hard, but the simple fact of implying that he has been stretching his insides for you, almost made him cum on the spot.

“Nggf…I-I didn’t…A-aahh! Mng—”

“Oh but you’ve been fucking yourself at the thought of me, haven’t you?” One of your hands grabbed onto his dick, giving it a few strokes while you added, “don’t worry I’m not mad.”

Vincent tried to hold in a sob by biting down his lips, as the mix of both different kinds of pleasure assaulted his nervous system. Though, nothing could prevent the tears from rolling down his eyes and into his mouth while he tried to answer you, emphasis on “tried”.

“Y—Mngh…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, as he felt your pelvis against his butt, meaning ou were completely inside him.

You waited until the mess of a man had visibly relaxed, before pulling back and thrusting inside again with more speed. The sounds of flesh smacking together and Vincent’s moan filled your ears like a melody. The way you bucked against him without mercy was contrasted with your thumb gently rubbing his hips in a praise like gesture.

There was one thing that was bothering you, as you glared at the upper half of his body. You had rolled up his coat a little when you were massaging his waist earlier, yet it wasn’t enough. You took the base of his uniform and ripped it in half all the way to his neck, the roll of your hips never faltering. Satisfied, you bent down and kissed his newly bare shoulders.

“That’s much better, don’t you think?” You took the chance to nibble there too, “And now your outfit is ruined, just like all my suits.”

“Nnhg Uh-uhh.” Whines and moans, mixing together as Vincent wished to speak.

You smile against his skin, satisfied with this little punishment.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I tried to match your freak, so I hope you enjoyed it 💅🏻

(Oh and I can tell you that Dr. Seraph will have a lot of explaining to do the next day when he arrives in a wheelchair at a meeting.)

[radioactive-earthshine]

I think sending Jason into space, specifically working with Vril Dox II in L.E.G.I.O.N. would be good for him and his character, and it would also be good for L.E.G.I.O.N. as well because it would make it fresh for new readers and give them a reason to care about it. Because L.E.G.I.O.N. is, as we now know, active in the main continuity but had been dispersed due to the United Planets plot.

They could actually launch this first as a new R.E.B.E.L.S. series and it follows Vril, his son Lyrl, Jason, and a few other select members as they work to reform L.E.G.I.O.N. and fight against the prevailing fascism of the United Planets which is working with Waller to isolate Earth.

So this series could reestablish a workable continuity for the space community which is important for the mainline universe.

What this would also do is give Jason a real opportunity to be developed in a space where Gotham is not a factor. It would let him grapple with his issues, his hangups, his questions of morality and use of force, his feelings of betrayal and anger etc etc all in the company of people who have also varying degrees of the same feelings.

Vril is a very morally dark grey personality who suffered extreme abuse at the hands of his own father and people who once wanted nothing more than to kill "Daddy Doxest". With the influence of his dear friend The Durlan he was able to dream about a better future and a better society where injustices are corrected, often with extreme measures that the Justice League of Earth would never think to do. His methods are lethal, they are underhanded, they are evil in some ways but always with the best of intentions. Not to get too much into his lore, he has gotten significantly less a cunt and no longer is actively trying to kill his father at all costs (as if DC would let him kill Brainiac).

His very meshes well with Jason because he could be a surrogate example of a Batman Jason wanted and never saw, but they also share a rage and an anger that mirrors each other.

Vril would enable him.

Lyrl, Vril's son - is also a little cunt that tried to kill Vril multiple times for multiple reasons through Looney Tunes comic logic. He too is on a shade of dark grey, who also suffered at the hands of his father who lobotomized him to save his life (sound familiar????). The lobotomy was reversed in Lyrl and comic events unfolded around him and Vril and they both managed to come to a neutral truce and understanding to just... exist.

We haven't had much development on either of these characters since R.E.B.E.L.S v2 ended pre-Flashpoint and House of Brainiac (2024) only showed us that they appear to be working together civilly.

Lyrl is closer to Jason's age and has a lot of that more youthful outrage of betrayal coupled with tempered violence that he's worked through for the most part.

ANYWAY my point is, throwing Jason into space with other people that aren't good or evil (mostly) who also have father-figure issues and complex relationship to family, morality, their ideas of justice and what a good society looks like might actually help make Jason develop.

And if you have a shipper brain Lyrl/Jason might not be so bad of a ship and they would both enable, compliment and contrast each other and make each other see other sides of themselves they didn't know they had.

But I mean, this is just me rolling things around.

[burningarsenic]

The entire bullshitted and edgy backstory my brain came up with for Tullius:

He was born in Anvil to a long line of Legionnaires. His first name is Tiberius, named after Tiber Septim due to his father's affinity for the man. His father was a strict man, a Legate in the Legion and he was determined to make a warrior out of his son. Tullius was taught to use a sword ever since he was old enough to hold one, but his real passion lied behind the mind. He was great at chess, logic and more often than not used clever, almost slimy tactics during training

When he was 12, his father took him to the Imperial City, specifically so he could live and train in the Legion's barracks. He wasn't an official part of the army yet, but he was exposed to all the good the bad and the ugly that came with military organization. This allowed him to quickly climb the ranks in the army when he was allowed in

It's not that the Legion wasn't his passion, but he sometimes wonders if this really is the life he wants, or if he's in the position he is now purely because he didn't know any other life

By 26 he was already a bright, young Legate. It was a quick promotion because of his family's ties to the Legion. I imagine he wasn't closed off and antisocial back then, he used to frequent local inns and often escape the walls of the City to wander around with a new woman he'd found himself attracted to (and a few men, but he'd never tell anyone about that)

What changed him, like many others, is the Great War. Due to most of the commanding power being urgently called to different garrisons, Tullius was left managing a relatively small group on the outskirts of Anvil in a farming settlement. The military was stationed there to make the Dominion reconsider attacking the flanks, as well as to scout out any potential dangers

Unfortunately, the outpost served as a show of the elves' destructive powers. There was a group of Altmer wizards that cast a series of fire runes over the settlement (totally stole this idea from a fanfic because its COOL DAMMIT), which, the moment a person even as much as moved, all the runes immediately got set off, engulfing everyone and everything in flames

Tullius barely survived the encounter, mostly because he was on the lookout outside of town and wasn't burned as heavily as the rest. The memory haunts him, however, as he escapes to the Imperial City before it's siege

The memory haunts him so bad, in fact, that it drives him crazy, earning him the patronage of Sheogorath for a while. The war goes by in a blur as he throws himself into work and planning, trying to forget everything with an unhealthy amount of alcohol. After the war is over and peace is achieved (though at what cost) he decides to try and end his life. It's unsuccessful and he's almost kicked out of the legion for it, because a leader trying to kill themselves is a bad thing for soldier morale (and overall the whole thing is buried)

Except Titus Mede II has a serious, and perhaps less of an Emperor-Subject talk with him, which alleviates some of the weight on Tullius's shoulders. It doesn't erase it, but it at least makes life bearable. For his outstanding military achievements (largely because his coping mechanism is doing nothing but his job), he's awarded the title of General shortly after

Idk i like sad old men

[solarsleepless]

hello all

basically, i'm going to be watching bsc episodes and listing down the autistic traits i see in kristy. i may have a bonus part for the other girls but i'm mainly going to be focusing on kristy as she is my favourite.

without further ado, let's do this

Episode 1

right off the bat we get the line "I was doing the most talking, as per usual." autistic people have a tendency to dominate conversations or to "monologue"

also, mary anne is kristy's only friend at the very beginning. most autistic people find it challenging to make any new friends, both due to any communicative issues and because they don't want to change up their routine. kristy is clearly just fine with having only mary anne as a friend, which is shown in later episodes

"it was boiling in there, like surface of venus levels hot and he just kept droning on and on" autistic people are wayyy more prone to sensory issues than most other people, and that can include temperature, especially if they start sweating, which for many people causes sensory distress. autistic people also find it hard to concentrate for a myriad of possible reasons, including filtering out information our brains deem 'irrelevant' even if they're not

"If he was such a genius, why didn't he say all people?" autistic people tend to have a strong sense of justice and a black and white view of things, having very clear ideas of what is right and wrong in their head. yes, kristy's a feminist, but her willingness to correct him without a care for manners reads as autistic to me

"except apparently, i raised my voice, and didn't raise my hand." manners, even well remembered ones like raising your hand, can sometimes be forgotten by autistic people if it's something they're passionate about: in this case, kristy's need for correction and fairness overrode that

"[the boys in the back are] wiping sweat on each other, but somehow, i'm the disruptive one" autism in AFABs is often seen as being rude or disruptive despite them often just being passionate about the subject. also, sensory issues again?

"claudia and mary anne and i used to hang out all the time. but that was before claudia decided she was more into boys and clothes than us." another example of how kristy has had very few people in life she considers friends and has stuck with them for most of her life. also, possible rejection sensitive dysphoria made kristy see it as bigger than it actually is, because they seem to be fine when they interact, like nothing happened

in the next scene, we see kristy helping david michael with a puzzle. puzzles are often enjoyed by autistic people due to being structured, logical, visual and with a clear end, all of which are treasured aspects of things for autistic people.

stimming!!! lots of stimming. when explaining her new concept which she has clearly quickly hyperfixated on, we see her pacing and fidgeting with her hands as well as gesturing. also, having a strong moral code and wanting to put in effort for kids to be happy

she seems pretty startled when stacey appears, and is a little upset when it's obvious claudia has told her about the club idea: autistic people find it hard to find their footing after their expectations of how something would go are thrown off, but kristy's new hyperfixation overrules this change of plans

even though her need to infodump and talk about this new idea made her not lose her cool, she's visibly still unsure when stacey suggests things. even afterwards, she tries to... "villainize" feels to strong a word, but tries to make reasons for why she disliked her even though it's obvious she was just taken off guard

"maybe new people weren't an invading force to be repelled at all costs" here we get to see how much kristy detests change—even when it's beneficial, she'd rather stick with one or two friends. pay special attention to the wording: "at all costs". kristy will always try and evade change

another sign of her intolerance for change is how much she just dislikes watson, even though he seems like a nice guy. she doesn't want to accept that he is going to a fixture in their lives because it will mean that her family will change a lot, at least in her view (though i will say she has a lot of abandonment issues and trauma from her dad leaving her which shifts her perception on any guy her mom dates)

also from here on out i think we can see a clear hyperfixation on business and law, judging by her attitude and comments later on about the club

this whole dinner scene just feels very autistic to me: she takes what her mother says about "feeling okay about it" very literally and bulldozes any attempt of conversation. she is not okay about the idea of her mother marrying watson and she doesn't understand the social cue of her being more gentle about it. she genuinely doesn't understand why her mom would ask about it if she, in kristy's perspective, was not going to listen to her, when kristy is the one not listening to her over a misunderstanding.

this might be more of a me thing, but kristy trying to send her mom an email to apologize just feels really autistic to me, as it resonates hard with me and what i've done in the past. i used to leave messages in google translate for my parents to apologize. idk but its worth looking at

"i'm bossy, get used to it" shows that not only is she fairly controlling, but she's also aware of this fact. i couldn't find much research on this, but many autistic people are bossy or controlling so they know what to expect and so that things go exactly to plan.

kristy's lack of tact and sense with the phone. just. that.

claudia remarks that she's starting to remember why she stopped hanging out with kristy so much—because she's controlling and "bossy". this is partially due to feeling like everything that happened with her dad was out of her control and so it intensified the shittier he became, combined with that, autistic people can tend to come off as too much. also, rejection sensitive dysphoria—stares off into the distance and doesn't talk.

autistic people tend to be very trusting of others, taking lots of what they say at face value, and struggling to comprehend why someone would lie to them. despite only knowing stacey for a short amount of time and not even completely liking her, she's devastated when it turns out stacey was lying to them.

"this whole situation has spiralled out of my control, and that's a feeling i really, really hate." same points that have been made above—absolute control over what happens when they're involved is a big thing for autistics so they know completely what's going on. add on her trauma about her absent father, and it makes sense why she acts the way she does.

more about the trust!! she trusts stacey to not only know about her hyperfixation but also to be directly involved in it—that's a really big deal for us autistics!! it means we Trust you!!

more hammering in about kristy's control issues. i'm glad i've only seen One (1) fic demonizing her for it but at the same time that's one too many

kristy being just. so blunt. i love her. "you're controlling my THOUGHTS now?" "yes." a lot of autistic people don't see any reason to not be honest most of the time.

is just. dead serious about the "i should resign before i'm impeached".

more bluntness!! "when mary anne gets scared at something you think is silly, do you make fun of her and call her a baby?" "yeah, sometimes." "oh. but you're still her best friend, right?" "yes." but also, bluntness isn't always a bad thing. kristy just casually throws in the "i love you" because she thinks it at that moment and means it, so she sees no reason not to say it because it's true.

more finding it easier to say stuff like "thank you" over text than in person, just like the "i'm sorry" earlier

additional notes:

mary anne is autistic too!! we see her stimming, though, stroking the end of her braid during her convo abt the club with stacey, kristy and claudia. also her just letting kristy speak a lot feels autistic but idk how to explain it. also, she's good with visual organization, such as keeping things orderly in a google docs and writing minutes. i feel like she'd rather her do it than anyone else, that way she can help the club and make it easier for her to concentrate on the club itself. also, stacey and even claudia, her childhood best friend, both remark that she doesn't speak a lot. she definitely isn't nonverbal, but she absolutely lets people talk over hers and seems to find it more comfortable to not speak, at least early on. i could only find stuff for nonspeaking and nonverbal autistics, but i've had several periods where it wasn't uncomfortable to speak, but i was much more comfortable not speaking, which i think might be the case for mary anne, though it could be a mark of her simply not knowing what to add.

claudia CLEARLY has adhd!! she doodles and fidgets a lot, and many adhders turn out to be artists due to their creativity and excess energy that they expel via doodling. she draws on her shoes, and the teacher remarks that she "wouldn't want another failed quiz on your average", indicating her struggle with school, which we see even more of in the coming episodes, and people with adhd tend to have poor academic perfomance, mainly for their struggle with executive dysfunction skills.

claudia also spells "prety grate" instead of "pretty great" in her email to kristy. judging by this and later scenes in the series, it's possible she has dyslexia and/or dyscalculia, which has been reported to more or less have a 25% comorbidity with adhd

janine is also pretty obviously autistic-coded; her room is very dimly lit, she hardly ever leaves it, has flat affect, doesn't pick up much on claudia's social cues, has a special interest in computer and tech and whatnot, has a very extensive vocabulary, and butts in on conversations with her advice without asking before leaving after they get what she's saying

and that's it for episode 1 !!!! tell me what you think, and i'll see you all with part 2 very soon :)

[yakool-foolio]

what are the themes of Rain Code? What's the message?

Much like a lotta other media, Rain Code is chock full of many different themes that people can read into. Some are more prevalent than others, and everyone can have their own interpretations, so I'll do my best to talk about a few themes I personally found and dove into.

For starters, one of the biggest messages in Rain Code is that you don't have to take everything on by yourself and it's okay to rely on others for help. Yuma and his bonds with Shinigami and the NDA detectives carry this message in the palms of their hands. @/alfiely-art wrote an excellent post about how this applies to a lotta the male characters especially. Having a support system to fall back on when your burdens are too heavy carry on your own is something everyone should have in their life, lest all that pain is bottled up.

There's also the message that some truths are hard to face, but in the end it's better to confront them and find a way to reach a personal satisfying conclusion. This was sparked by Yuma's change to the WDO's creed as he resigned from his position as Number One, revealed at the very end of the game (and is noticeable throughout chapter 4 and 5). This coincides with some aspects of the logic vs. emotion and love vs. hate themes present as well, which I've rambled about in this older post.

To toss one more theme in here, I wanna talk about a theme I don't think anyone has really delved too much into, but has kinda been rolling around in my brain for long enough that it's stuck with me longer than I thought it would. There's an underlying theme of inheritance in Rain Code. The more obvious aspect of this is the homunculi. They inherit the memories of their human originals and carry on with their lives like they are those humans, unaware that simply getting to live relatively normal lives came at the cost of losing their originals by being brutally killed off and eaten by themselves. This is also reflected in none other than Hitman Zilch, inheriting the persona of a detective (and the speculatively many other people he's impersonated as a part of his job) in order to deceive the others on the train and have the upper hand. And last but not least, Yakou inheriting his wife's glasses, then letting Yuma inherit his WDO hat and cloak (which I rambled about extensively here) that he still wears even after leaving Kanai Ward. It's subtle moments of sweet remembrance and living on for the sake of others. Carrying the torch of those who've passed and taking their legacies with them. For the human originals, for the hitman victims, for the chief detective.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Could you do headcanon for M4A1, AK-15, HK416, and WA2000 with S/O saving them but it got them into a coma and have amnesia

(GFL) M4A1, AK-15, HK416, and WA2000's S/O having amnesia

Apparently the case of amnesia we see in video games and whatnot are 99% of the time temporary, and only in extreme cases of trauma are permanent. Learned something new today!

M4 would have rather gotten shot than hear the question her S/O asked.

(S/O) "W-Who...are you?"

She is absolutely devastated when the medical officers tell her that S/O had suffered amnesia. They had shoved her into cover as they were caught in a explosion that sent them flying.

She was already blaming herself, but now it went doubly so now they had forgotten who even they were.

They don't even remember working for Griffin, which made it that much harder to explain what situation they were in.

She doesn't bother even trying to explain T-Dolls, or what she was, there was no need to confuse them even further.

What she does do is show them pictures of AR Team and S/O together, in a vain hope to help them remember faster.

(M4A1) "Are you feeling alright, S/O?"

(S/O) "A-A little. Thank you for always stopping by and trying to help me. It can't be easy."

(M4A1) "Truth be told...It's not. But even if there's some slim chance you can regain your memories from me speaking with you, then I'm taking it.

She has the other members of AR Team drop by to see if that doesn't help.

They lost their memories because of her. For a T-Doll, that was the same as getting killed.

It was her responsibility and new mission to make sure they get it back.

She won't stop until her lover is back in her arms.

15 fails to hide her shock when S/O looks at her with unfamiliar eyes.

(S/O) "E-Excuse me...where am I?"

(AK-15) "Amnesia...?"

She was surprised their injury was so severe that amnesia had formed. She immediately has the medics try to find the issue with their brain, before realizing she was scaring S/O.

15 moves to hold their hand but stops herself, remembering that to them, she was a stranger.

(AK-15) "...Pardon me."

She understands their injury in a logical way. There was a chance they would not remember, but there was a high likelihood they'd remember after several weeks.

15 tries her absolute best not to panic or stress about S/O. She falters here and there everytime she goes to speak to them.

She knows its a waste of time to ask if they remember, since she'd know when they'd get their memories back.

Instead she appears whenever the medics try to help them jog their memory, never forcing anything upon S/O.

Though she feels its a personal failure on her part. She's supposed to be the best of the best, and she was saved by a human.

And 15's failure costed her S/O.

(AK-15) "I will be here with you however long it takes, S/O. This is my responsibility as well."

416 is paralyzed when S/O fails to recognize her.

It was her fault that they had become like this, all because she got too cocky, and S/O had to save her.

It stung her pride, but most of all her metaphorical heart shattered, realizing she had taken S/O for granted.

She was completely at a loss, no coy words her sharp tongue could throw out at them or anyone else.

416 doesn't sugarcoat the truth with S/O, speaking as plainly as she can.

(HK416) "You don't remember me, but know this. You mean a lot to me, and I mean a lot to you. I don't care what we do, we're getting your memories back one way or another."

She's surprised when the rest of 404 wants to help her with S/O, considering this was a personal problem.

But she thanks them inside her heart. She wasn't sure if she could do this alone.

WA's eyes fill with tears when S/O's once loving gaze stares at her with confusion.

(WA2000) "You...don't remember me?"

(S/O) "I-I'm sorry but...I don't."

She knows there's no one to blame but herself. She wasn't checking her surroundings, and S/O paid the price for her mistake.

As much as the resentment for herself grew, she put it aside. S/O needed her more than ever.

She completely throws out her pride, trying anything to get S/O back, begging Springfield and the Commander for help.

In S/O's presence, her usual tsundere words are completely absent. She was going to save that when S/O got their memories back.

(WA2000) "You moron...If you don't get your memories back I-...I-I..."

She mutters these words to herself, not wanting to think about the alternative.

[inventors-fair]

Darn Good Duplicates: Modified Copies Runners Up!

~

Our runners up this week are @corporalotherbear, @hypexion, and @melancholia-ennui!

@corporalotherbear — Warped Reflection

Simple, but effective. Excellent use of kicker, too, because while a slightly more expensive Clone effect is perfectly serviceable, you're really after the effect of paying the full seven mana. Getting an improved copy that does away with the original is quite good, and I love it as a sort of callback to good old Evil Twin. Good catch putting "another" in the ability as well, to avoid weird corner cases where the target is removed some other way and the token is forced to kill itself. It's solid, it's strong, it's cool, I really like it.

@hypexion — Scream Tear

So, from what I've managed to glean, the name was intended to be a play on screen tearing, specifically because of Duskmorn's glitch ghosts and their association with television screens. I admit I didn't really get that on first viewing, but it still felt perfectly evocative even without that knowledge. A rift like a tear in the surface of reality that emits a noise comparable to screaming still makes perfect sense in my brain. This is a very neat twist on an Oblivion Ring, adding a really interesting dynamic. On the one hand, being able to leverage whatever creature you've imprisoned yourself is strong, but the fact that the enchantment itself transformed means that you have to put it at more of a risk of removal or death in combat to fully take of advantage of it, which threatens to release whatever's under it. There's a lot of nuance here for both players when it comes how to approach it, and that's my favorite kind of card.

@melancholia-ennui — The Notorious Snatcher

So, immediately, I'm a bit dubious about the use of "The" in the name here. It's not legendary, so how many The Notorious Snatchers could there possibly be? At any rate, funny how Afterglow keeps coming up, eh? Good to see you're still experimenting with it. This definitely feels like a design enabled by Afterglow rather than just showing it off, and it's also uniquely Afterglow. After all, getting a second copy of this effect is quite strong, but the interesting part is that it actually makes the creature more vulnerable to being removed, which therefore makes the effect less powerful. I'm a bit dubious of the Afterglow cost being white, however, just because I'm not entirely sure monowhite should have access to this kind of effect if they manage to dump this straight to the graveyard. I'd be interested to hear the logic behind it, certainly.

~

That's about it. As usual, I'll be taking requests for additional commentary in our Discord. See you there! —@spooky-bard

[hislittleraincloud]

More proof that Wyler is garbage and Wyler people are gross...there was a promising gifset of a S2 AU where the creator has Joel Glicker enter Nevermore and starts dating Wednesday (😃😃😃😃😃), but then the whole thing revolves around Tyler TURNING INTO A STALKER like this:

Because having a violent stalker who threatens your boyfriend IS SO FUCKING SEXY AMIRITE? Surely even Netflix Wednesday would find someone threatening to kill someone she likes/loves HOT, right, because she reacts so well to assholes threatening the people she loves. My hope for that 'story' is that Wednesday would protect Joel with her life, given that she opened herself up enough to actually date him and love on him publicly as shown in the other gifs in the set (which I love, those are brilliant).

I don't really have beef with the creator of the gifset, its story potential is excellent, so long as Wednesday serves up Tyler's comeuppance for trying to kill her. (By that time, his Hyde brain had already taken full hold, with all of his gaslighting 'romantic' pretenses dropped.) However, unfortunately since it was posted by a Wyler stan, I don't think its story would be going in that logical direction, since it seems like they're tryna romanticize his stalking.

But that's not the half of it...the rest is in the comment replies about Joel and it makes me sick

You're fucking 🗑️

ABSOLUTE 🗑️

Fuck that monster.

Stalking in the manner that is portrayed in that potential storyline is not a positive thing. It's not sexy. It's villainous, and it turns Tyler into a full-on villain. (Jesus, he ain't even cute! He's the type of 'teen heartthrob' that mag editors have been foisting on tasteless teen girls for decades, only for the girls to grow up, reflect, and say "WTAF was I thinking?"...like Kirk Cameron...not really cute either, but the lot of us who thought he was just facepalm at our own embarrassing teenie bopper lack of taste. Plus, Tyler LOOKS like his Hyde 🤢**) And Joel did absolutely nothing to deserve that. Joel is to be protected at all costs.

My guess is that none of y'all ever had an actual DV situation where there was a stalker. I have. It's part of that whole attempted murder accusation. That bitch stalked me. Stalked AND kidnapped me from our school at knifepoint. She threatened to murder my cat. She broke into my house and chased me with a fucking butcher's cleaver. I WAS 15 YEARS OLD. It was not fun or entertaining, and it ruined my life as it was back then.

Anyway. Yeah that was triggering to me, given my experience w a stalker (and actually, I had two stalkers at the time...yeah, high school was hilarious 😒). But violent, threatening stalkers are bad and TLDR: Joel is Wednesday's first canon kiss, and she liked him. Don't ever come for Joel, or I'll come for you.

**On the flip side, Xavier/Percy is odd looking too, but he's got the type of face that fits with the oddness of Addams Family lore. He is very unconventionally attractive, while Tyler/Hunter is the definition of mid.

[sociallyawkwardsociety]

"Everything Happens for A Reason" My take on what is going on and what this has always gone on!

This is my crazy or not so crazy take on what’s going and what has gone on for time and it's the most logical explanation that works for me.

We are having a Polar shift; hence the earth is getting hotter, no climate change as we know it, this is a natural occurrence where the Earth’s Magnetic field weakens, sometimes completely flips. This in turns means Earth and everything on it is subject to harmful Cosmic Rays, hence why radiation medicine is being developed, energy weapons, Atlantis type monopolises are being built in Saudi and China, Psychedelic’s are being synthetically altered to help people cope with the coming changes. I will be adding to the listed categories to back up and look deeper into each concept. I ask myself why and where did this epiphany come from so much that I feel a sense of exploring and sharing my views.

The famous Triangle, a triangle of three - Elon Musk (Alien)Space X. Elon and the non vaxed are off to hang out in the Atmosphere, like Noah, he takes all living organisms and genetic coding of h all the creatures that we need to balance the ecosystem, drip feeding it but by bit to Earth when it is safe to inhabit again, he is the alien “god”, or really a former citizen of the previous Polar Shits…… stay with me!

The Bloomsburg bunch, our friends and nemesis’, Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos & Mark Zukerberg, are off to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia where #NEOM, Saudi's Super Town project is being constructed. This has a time scale to be completed by 2039 ( wow I’ll be 60 years young then). Why in the desert? Well because Sand has properties that can protect from Cosmic radiation. Ol’ Bill Gates bailed out Alwaleed, a Saudi Arabian billionaire businessman, investor, philanthropist and Royal from being a prisoner of the state and now is basically Gates' monkey. This is of course an in route for the Psychopaths to build a 75-mile-long mirror-encased Line skyscraper, with a cost of $1 TRILLON DOLLAR. This futuristic city with tropical rainforest and an abundance of luxuries is designed to see this community see out the cosmic storms and until we have a fully protective magnetic field again.

Let’s not forget the Chineses /Mongolians ( maybe Russians and Trump) and the modern Ming Dynasty, they will settle in the “ghost” cities in China, these construction were built for a purpose, with American money?? Well that doesn't make sense!

This is all about survival of the fittest, the Higher Archy it has been their legacy, to live in such a" bubble" in their cities of Atlantis, with the Outlaws AKA you and me, destroying each other as resources run out and desperation to survive takes over…human instinct, animal instinct, each and every living organism’s instinct!!!

Every part of the East /West / Alien triangle are storing food, medicine, salt, water, fuels etc, so each entity can survive the cosmic radiation for 300-1000 years until the protective magnetic force across the world restores.

However, good old Elon and the Space X (are from the future) are they are the time travellers? This sequence hasn’t happened once in time, it's in and been a continuous cycle hence why knowledge isn’t lost and energy never dies. We dream in the past and the future, babies dream how come? This is all extending from a week of time I had alone to truly think and tap into what is the point in life and what is actually going on?

The great Pyramids, I believe, were used as a protective hang out when the ancient civilisations had to see out the Polar Shift back then. The Mayans elite of that time, but Space X has always been, as they will always be one stage ahead and I don't know about quantum Physics but this element is along those lines, and I will be looking into this brain expanding concept and gain a better understanding and write about this, I don’t even feel mad, just yet.

This brings me onto Weather Control. This need to control weather is because of everyone having to live in a contained environment to see out the 300-1000 years of lock down. Weather is needed and although it’s developed by the ‘Elites for their Utopias ’  it will be one of the only things that will benefit the Cave men who have burrowed into the depths of Caves ..

Wind is needed - Sandstorms, did you know sand can protect from cosmic rays! It will keep the air moving in the coming volatile climate. Rain of course because water would run out and also to dampen down the radioactive dust in the atmosphere.

Keeping the cycle going, genetic coding and primal instincts, once we die we die, but every cell that is reproduced from us, our parents, children for generation is our real identity and binary code so that’s why it will always be what it will always be, if that makes Sense and whatever we go through is leading us to the next cycle for infinity.

I haven’t got a clue if this is anywhere near how it is, but this makes sense to me, and that is healing in itself. I don’t feel any animosity in my life as it really is all so insignificant in the great circle of life and that’s the only thing that is round. We are all just trying to survive, and everything does happen for a reason ...we may not have been here as physical beings before but us like our muscle memory that lives in cells so does brain and emotional and characteristic genetic memory. I’m quite excited to see if we get to live like outlaws Mad Max style or it’s a big load of bollocks but by the goose bumps that resonated from drawing a conclusion then I’d love to think I have a grasp of the bigger picture.

Please read through my other articles and send any comments or requests on what you would like to read about me via the contact link. 

Be safe, be lucky and blessed… keep it real, we aren’t physically here for a longtime.

[the-heaminator]

👀

ATP this au is very half baked but bear with me here. Half baked in the sense that I've never done anything for it but it haunts my thoughts.

Ie the lobotomy au because nation biology is a bitch like that.

A few other thoughts that I am not coherent enough to plot out.

first off so lobotomies were particularly popular in the 40s and 50s, a time where logically Arthur would not be very stable, and like a lot of lobotomies were performed for no reason other than to make the patient more docile and less "difficult" and to an extent it does work, a lobotomy being the removal of part, or sometimes the whole of the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that is (to date) known to do many things, it plays a central role in cognitive control functions, and dopamine in the PFC modulates cognitive control, thereby influencing attention, impulse inhibition, prospective memory, and cognitive flexibility.

Which means that removing it makes him more docile and calmer, and supposedly gets rid if his problem of seeing things, at the rather steep cost of partial memory loss, change in personality (often very severe) loss of impulse control and high distractability.

Like this could be seen as an improvement for a short period of time, no longer is he ranting raving and talking to things that aren't there, but then he starts becoming apathetic and his usual difficulty to accept change just isn't there, as well as personality changes that could range from him becoming too trusting, almost childlike in certain aspects, to manic and quite mad, sometimes forgetting he had eaten and would keep eating more regardless.

This becomes a problem very soon because I mean just look at the above paragraphs and tell me this isn't worrying, he gets reset, and his brain heals somehow, which raises the questions of will everything go back to normal or will some of the side effects persist, like will his memory still be a bit shit for a couple decades afterwards, it could he used to explain a lot of the shit he got up to in the 60s and 70s, lack of impulse control and all that, and just hnghgg

Also how would this effect the people around him in long and shirt term.

Theres also the fact that this is what would happen if it went correctly, they used a fucking ice pick half of the time, it could easily fuck up and kill, but for the purposes of this it could hit somewhere where it most definitely shouldn't, the hypothalami or pituitary glands for example. Like I want a nation physical subject, or a cadaver I'm not choosy. But they're fictional so what do I do.

[skylarkalchemist]

I have lupus.

I literally can't eat some days bc of nausea, vomiting, GI upset, and chronic oral ulcers that make my mouth hurt so bad that anything that goes in burns and stings, the pain is such a strong deterrent that I cannot force myself to eat or drink at times.

Any semblance of inflammatory response in any of my organs, joints, or muscles is felt deeply and harshly.

Sometimes my joints feel like I've been shot with an arrow to them, out of the blue. If I'm driving, I have to choose whether I am going to suffer through the pain and bullishly fight the pain until it stops and risk it getting worse or I'm going pull my car over until the pain passes/becomes just bearable enough that it is theoretically safe for me to continue on my drive.

I have to weigh whether I can go in to work some days bc I work in a field where the lives of people's beloved pets are in my hands, and if I cannot focus on monitoring anesthesia bc my pain levels are too high or bc my brain fog is too strong, I risk killing a patient. I also have to weigh whether I can handle doing things with people outside of work, or do things with friends. Sometimes, I don't get a choice in the matter- regardless of my pain levels, exhaustion, illness, I have to be present at certain events that come up, no matter how much i know it will hurt in the moment, and how much it will make my life worse after the fact, and how much I would rather take a rain check than do that to myself, because some people and things are just that important to me.

I have to weigh whether to complete my upper level coursework after work at the risk of fatigue or get much needed sleep and not complete my coursework as I work to get into vet school before I turn 30.

I was recently diagnosed with osteoarthritis in parts of my throacic spine, at age 27, because of the constant onslaught of immune-mediated inflammatory response on my spine thanks to my chronic illness, and am currently being looked into as a possible elusive female gout patient as well, amongst several other concurrent diagnoses I'm being looked at for (with a ridiculously expensive blood test that costs 2k that I had to be poked 18 times over 3 different days within a 10 day period to collect blood for, by the way, because my autoimmune issues cause such extremely low blood pressure and my veins are small, fragile, and roll a ton, to the point the only way to get blood from me is by ultrasonography-guided pokes with butterfly needles in sizes so small that they are typically reserved for NICU patients, by nurses that are typically staffing the NICU).

I have to get bloodwork pretty regularly and have to monitor everything I eat, and especially how much alcohol I put in my body, because if I don't, I risk developing lupus nephritis, aka severe kidney disease with a pretty significant possibility for my kidneys to go into full-on failure.

And I have to deal with constant concurrent mental illness that is exacerbated anytime my physical illness flares up, that makes me feel like I want to die because of the mix of physical pain, exhaustion, and utter frustration at my complete inability to do anything about it except feel overwhelmed, however the logical side of my brain tries to reassure me that I have no control over it and therefore just need to ride it out. Because sometimes, just riding it out is too much to stand, because you just wish you had more control over your health and wellbeing than you actually do.

I have it better than many, yes. But that does not mean I do not have immense struggles that I sometimes need to vent about.

abled people really act like if your illness or disability isn’t terminal then you’re not allowed to complain about it or grieve the life you thought you’d have and it’s so fucked up

[ursbearhug]

One of the main reason I no longer try to argue with the folk who purchase The Antisemitic Fear Mongering the game, is because it's bascially talking a wall.

Every possible argument you make they strawman like their life depends on it (which it really does because the moment they realise they did something wrong is the end of all, instead of - ya know - apologise and go on do better) and the argument they do understand, will unlogic out to you until you die from brain malfunction. Like in Sims 3 when you asked another sim to divide 0 and they just set ablaze and die.

Examples? "Hey by purchasing the Fear Mongerer the game you help a billionaire racist and xenophobic trans-exlusionist ruin lives of milion other people" and they hit you with "well, there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" (strawman; they are aware that your argument is unbeatable because it warrants 5 minutes long Google search to prove that, yes, JK Rowling is indeed that horrible of a shell of human being, therefore they take the "purchase" part and decide to fight this bit because you cannot refute them)

Or the new one I see a lot on Tumblr; "well, I donated 3x the cost of the game to "Poor organisation trying their best to shelter trans folk" so my purchase of the Racist and Anti-Semitic narrative the game is justified". No, it's not. Even if every buyer, somehowly, manages to donate triple the amount of games price, we're talking about what? 600 per buyer? To a lowly organisation scrambling for money because they fight against something that most people would rather look away from? Versus a millionaire author collecting royalties? This is also a moment where I really want everyone to step into academic field and try to write 1 (one) paper that would go through the Copy Right program without a single problem on their first try and maybe, just maybe, they'd realise how royalties, copyright and copyright theft works. Also I really, really want people to understand it's not The Witcher situation; where the author gives away the rights to the mark. Even if we ignore (which is pretty hard to do) JK Rowling's words about "folk who helps Harry Potter, help me" (or whatever the fuck) and treat that just as a "I don't want to feel horrible so I'm saying words", she still racks up obscene cash from people who's reading capabilities didn't evolve past 1st grader or are so hung up on their childhood and unable to let go. Bitches will make fun of people for buying and being invested in Pokemon and have "uwu I'm such a ravenclaw" in their profile bio and not a single spark between their last remaining braincells would be ignited in the spawn of this event. You're not ravenclaw, you're just an imbecile.

And even when you go neck deep into the issue of the game being antisemitic and not actually transphobic, they'll still manage to use their lack of common sense which can and will numb you into state of unconsciousness.

It would be easier, and better, if they just straight up admit they don't care and would rather play the poor (not really considering the price tag) man's version of Dark Souls but with wands and magic and Harry Potmaker veneer. I would have lesser beef with that because at least we're being transparent and honest, instead of making weird hills to die on that make zero sense and make all the logic roll in its grave. Like, really, just say you'd rather pay for this game and play it with 0 critical thinking involved and be done with it. It will not lesser the bullying some folks are willing to go with, but it will lessen the headache you're inflicting with your absolute lack of awareness and empathy.

[acatalystrising]

ZWEI I, I, I literally am forcing my brain to make words because I have been a constant state of “oh my god” and “AAAHHH” and gjzzfffjcksbv I am TRYING to formulate the words I mean to say.

In fact, I think I’m actually dead and writing this as a ghost with too much to rant about.

This fic has become my absolutely favorite comfort story, and I am constantly re-reading it! The way you absolutely nail Boba and write him so masterfully is just, gahhh! It’s so, so good. I feel like I’m over here taking notes! The way you perfectly capture the masterful duality of this man is perfection, and I’m so genuinely glad others see him in the same depth I do. And goodness gracious is this chapter DRIPPING with wonderfully sexy goodness! At this point I’m posting whole paragraphs of this masterpiece because it totally deserves it!

“Not so brave now, are you, little princess?” Boba croons, licking his lips like he can taste your salt on his tongue. “Now that you’ve got nowhere to run and no pretty boys to bat your lashes at.” His muscular thigh pushes its way between your own and he grinds up into your center, forcing a moan up behind your teeth.

“I have… no idea… what… you’re talking… about,” you gasp, writhing on his thigh as your hands fly out to fist his suit jacket in a gnarled grip. You can feel your brain melting down the sides of your skull under his piercing gaze.

“Oh, you don’t?” he mocks, “Well let me enlighten you then, sweetheart. You spent the entire evening driving every man and the women Shand didn’t get to first out of their minds with your pretty little face and flirty little mouth. And all for what, to get my attention?” 

You’re burning so hot you can’t even think, much less get your tongue to unstick to form a coherent sound, so all you can answer with is round, shiny eyes and a shiver.

“Well, now you have it, princess,” he continues, a predatory smirk slashing across his dark features that makes your insides twist with his danger. “What are you gonna do with it?”

Like, GOOD. KRIFFING. MAKER. ABOVE.

Dom Boba would fix me. (Or make me worse) and I. Would. Let. Him. Something about his possessiveness and filthy words awakens something in me and I don’t think it’s going anywhere lol. And he’s so damn strong and commanding and ughhhh, I am not god’s strongest soldier.

I am literally weak kneed just reading this. This is SO Boba. His power, presence, and control. It just makes me melt! And THIS? I. Am. On. My. Knees. But on top of it all, after all that searingly hot excellence, you write THIS?!?

There’s true pain in his voice, the agony and strife of a man who has endured and had to bear the cost of that survival on his own, with wounds that never completely healed alongside scars that run so deep they’re etched into his bone and being. If only he knew how beautiful it made him that he never let that secret soft part of him die, you think. That despite what would have been the logical choice for anyone in his position, he chose to tuck his tenderness away for safekeeping rather than letting it wither in reality’s harsh sun.

“Boba, I want you to listen to me and listen to me good.” You take his beautiful face between your palms and trace your thumbs over his cheekbones, mimicking the affectionate gesture he often used with you. This close you can see the dark lashes around his brown eyes and all the torment held within them; it makes you physically ache to know that this man, this perfect, wonderful man doesn’t think he deserves everything good and pure because he’s roughed up and his soul has some dings in it. That it somehow precluded him from deserving the same love he so willingly gives to you despite your own imperfections.

“I love you, Boba Fett, I love every scar on your body, every bruised muscle and broken bone. I love your dark, hidden parts just as much as the ones which see the light. You know why? Because they made you who you are, they made you into the man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel beautiful and happy. You are a man of action and that’s worth far more to me than any string of pretty words ever could be. You are enough and you are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better.” 

I hope you know I actually cried. This is so beautiful, so masterful, that you can capture how broken and loving he is all in one. The softness and the pain, but also the strength. These are the reasons why I love Boba. And you have our feisty librarian show him all the love he deserves, and more.

This story is a work of art, I am ensnared, and I absolutely cannot wait for the next chapter! (And it will be right after my birthday too so that’s even cooler!)

EX LIBRIS IV

PART IV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

—Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—Part Summary: Your new relationship with the Mandalorian studies professor begins to take shape.

—Word Count: 11.2k

—Tags & Warnings: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Boba is late forties), reader is bisexual (and on her shit again lol), reader described as having enough hair to grab, alcohol consumption by reader and others, little bit of Mando'a used (translations at the end), dom/sub power dynamics, bdsm elements, dom!Boba, oral sex (male and fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl) (also I’ve decided this AU includes safe, effective birth control since we’re fantasizing anyways), creampie, lots of petnames, praise kink, dirty talk, light degradation (discussed before, use of "slut" and "whore"), choking, hair pulling, one dude being a creep but nothing bad happens

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged!

—Author's Notes: Y’all I’m not going to lie to you, this got filthy FAST and idk how this ended up at 11k but I’m not sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And, yes, I am naming these chapters after different parts of a book because I think I’m clever. We've got some new chapter warnings this go around as well, so be sure to mind those!

A big thank you to @rexxdjarin and @agirlnamejacq for betaing, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part I — Part II — Part III — Part V Coming June 9!

Rain plinks steadily against the thick, wavy glass of the library’s windows, its hypnotic rhythm lulling you into a trance as you watch the gray sky curl and coil outside from your post at the circulation desk. In your relaxed daze, your mind slips back to your date with Boba and the morning after. You think about how you got to fall asleep in his arms, tucked into his chest that was so warm and safe you only needed the sheet on top of you, and how even in his sleep he kept a protective arm slung over your body.

The way he woke you up with kisses on your neck, whispering how happy he was to wake up with you in his bed as his tongue laved over the bite-shaped bruise he left there the night before, and how it felt when you let him kiss down your body until he was once again laying between your thighs. How his hooded brown eyes searched for permission to continue like you would ever deny him any part of you. 

“Can I taste you, princess? Can I have that pretty pussy for breakfast?”

“Please, it’s all yours.”

He was in no rush to take you apart, groaning into your wet heat and sucking more bruises into the tender skin of your thighs in between licking and fucking you with his tongue until you finally begged him to push you over the edge. After he let you soak his face, he stole you away to the shower, promising you his fingers and his cock. Afterwards you had returned the favor in the steamy, warm water, not content until he spilled every last drop of his release down your throat, cursing with his fist in your hair that you were going to suck the life out of him.

“No,” you smiled deviouly, licking the last dribble of cum off his cock, “just your soul, old man.”

Flashing you a shark-like grin through the haze of his release, he reached behind you and turned the water to cold before jumping out of the shower. You might not have forgiven him as quickly as you did if he hadn’t made you the best omelet you’d ever had for breakfast.

Since neither of you had been willing to part, you spent the day sprawled across him watching reruns on TV and talking about your lives: what books you liked, your dream vacations, what the best pasta sauce is, first crushes, anything really. The conversation flowed with such ease you might have talked the whole day away if you hadn’t gotten distracted with exploring each other’s bodies. It wasn’t all sex—though there was plenty of that too—it was soft touches mapping out curves and lines to memory, lips tracing over scars and dimples, warm hands on sore muscles. In short, it was pure bliss, like coming home after a long journey. 

You had been loath to leave him when the treacherous sun started to set at the end of the day; Boba even threatened to keep you forever if you weren’t careful, as if that was supposed to make you want to leave any more. How could you be expected to sleep in your own bed now that you knew the warmth of his? Go to sleep without his chest rising and falling next to you? You were falling hard, tumbling down into love’s abyss with arms open and heart willing. That should scare you, it had in the past, but how could you be afraid when it was Boba Fett you were getting lost in?

When he finally did take you back to your apartment once the sun dipped below the horizon, you almost convinced him to come inside for “just one drink” before he thought better of your ploy to keep him and sent you through your door with a smack on the ass.

“Nice try, princess. I know what you’re up to.”

“What? I’m just being a hospitable host.”

“I’m pretty sure hospitable hosts don’t try to put their hands down their guests’ pants in the doorway.”

“The good ones do, and only for guests who can fuck like you.”

He laughed with that rich, delicious rumble of his then kissed you until your head spun and your lungs cried for air. Just thinking about it now makes your chest tighten and breath catch in the back of your throat. Gods I wish I could sneak over to his office and kiss him like that again. Run my hands over his broad shoulders and strong chest, feel his heartbeat quicken when I kiss him.

With the advent of classes, you’d hardly seen him outside of the afternoons when he’d walk you to your car at the end of the day. Talking on the phone every night was great, but it couldn’t replace actually being with him, especially when you’d been able to spend almost everyday with him those last two weeks of the summer break. All this time apart served to show just how much you enjoy just being around Boba; you miss the weight of his voice, the serenity of his solid presence, his dark eyes and the bright smile he seemed to reserve for you alone. He fed a part of you that you didn’t know was starving and tended to the soft pieces of yourself that had been trodden down by the unkinder parts of life. 

Oh, and he can make me come so hard I forget my own name. Repeatedly.

The sound of someone actually saying your name interrupts your daydreaming. Unhappily snatched back from the rosy past to the dreary present Thursday, you swivel towards the source of the interruption: a smirking Selena leaning against the back office door with her arms crossed, smug. “Thinking about your professor again?”

“No,” you deny rather unconvincingly, rolling out your shoulders to sit up straight with a huff. You’d been caught fair and square but that didn’t mean you're going to admit it.

Your coworker scoffs, rolling her eyes, clearly not fooled by your posturing. “Pfft that’s not what the hearts in your eyes say. I think you even have a couple floating above your head.”

Looking around the spacious room, you throw your hands up. “Does nobody in this library have any work to do besides harass me?” There’s barely a patron in sight, the large oak tables in the atrium sitting empty except for a handful of students hunched under the green bankers lamps lining them. 

“On a day like today? Absolutely not.” Selena drops down on the chair next to you with a yawn and a stretch, not bothering with the guise of work at all. “Did you decide what you’re wearing to the baccalaureate reception tomorrow?”

The event in question is the big kickoff to the academic year for faculty and staff at the end of the first week of classes. Held in the space the two of you are currently seated in, the library’s ornate atrium would be cleared of all its furniture and set up for an evening of hors d’oeuvres and drinks on the university’s dime. Despite the ostentatiousness of it all, you enjoyed the reception as it let you catch up with colleagues you rarely got to see during the academic year and mingle with the new professors. You were especially looking forward to this year’s, not in the least because it provided the opportunity to see a certain Mandalorian studies professor dressed to the nines.

“I was thinking of the green velvet dress, the one with the mesh top,” you answer. The outfit in question is one of your favorites; the rich material hugging your curves in all the right ways making you feel effortlessly sexy—you can’t wait to see Boba’s reaction to it. If you're lucky, you hope, he’ll drag you off somewhere and have his way with you before the night is over. And then again when we get back to his house.

Selena squeals and claps her hands excitedly. “Eeee, the one that makes you look snatched?” she wiggles her eyebrows at you “‘Cause if it is, your man doesn’t stand a chance!”

You laugh, curling your hands inward and cocking your head dramatically. “Yes, that one. You still got those black heels I can borrow?”

“Yeah, as long as I can use that clutch you let me use the other week.”

“It’s a deal,” you grin. “Oh, and Boba said we can get ready in his office so we don’t have to go all the way home and come back.”

“Are you sure he meant ‘we,’” she gestures between the pair of you skeptically, “or just you? I’m not trying to cut my contour while you two are going at it on the couch.”

You throw a pad of yellow sticky notes sitting on the computer at her. “He meant we, and besides,” you smirk, “I’ll just suck him off before you get there so you can fix my makeup after.” You both burst into giggles after a poor attempt of stifling them, your laughter earning you a glare from a passing professor, which you ignore. 

Balancing her chin on her hand, your friend considers you for a moment. Her big brown eyes are a bit lighter than Boba’s, ringed with dark lashes and expertly applied winged eyeliner. “So you really like this Boba Fett then?” 

A sunny smile spreads over your face, the answer easily on your lips. “You know what? I do, I really, really do. He’s strong and kind and funny in his own way, and he makes me feel safer than I have in my whole life. He matches my energy like… like he was made just for me. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at him or hearing him talk. He could read the kriffing phone book to me and I would be riveted.”

“Hold on, let me write all this down so I can send it to Hallmark for their next movie,” Selena interrupts, grabbing a pen from the cup on the desk. You roll your eyes and she snickers before softening. “Really though, I’m so happy for you, girl. It’s not every day you find someone who makes you feel like that.”

Her warmth and genuineness make your heart twinge: you are truly grateful to have a friend like her. “Thank you, Sel, that means a lot.”

She leans in and rests her head on your shoulder, and you give her a squeeze. “Now,” she starts, grinning, “do you know if he has any sons around our age for me?” Dissolving into giggles once more, you decide to give up on work for the remainder of the rainy day.

You rest a hand on your hip, taking a swig from your water bottle and admiring the efforts of the last half hour’s labor: the primly decorated circulation desk showcasing all the library’s services and resources for the reception guests to peruse. The attendees would begin arriving any minute and you were eager to present all the library offers for the faculty; you genuinely enjoy your work and you’re proud of the new primary source collection you’d established over the summer. It also meant you finally got to see Boba—you hadn’t gotten to see him when you and Selena went to his office to change, his department meeting having run over. 

Try as you might, you can’t help the wanton tingle that sparkles down your spine under your dress, or heat creeping into your cheeks at the racy memories of the pleasure you found on his tongue, cock, and fingers. What you wouldn’t give for a quickie right now, just a little something to take the edge off…

“Excuse me, miss, where can we put the catering carts?” 

Right, I’m supposed to be working. Stuffing all the wicked thoughts swirling in your head to the back of your mind, you smile at the event server and direct him down the hall. Hearing the swell of voices from the lobby, you turn and see the first attendees filing into the atrium, dressed in cocktail dresses and suits. Your eyes search for Boba in the crowd but you’re quickly caught up doing your presentation on the library’s collections and resources.

It’s not until your last group before you hand over your representative duties to Selena for the remainder of the evening that you spot Boba leaning against the wall across from the desk, watching you with Fennec at his side. Your practiced spiel jumbles together at the wicked gleam shining in his eyes and he smirks, whispering something to the handsome woman next to him. Taking a sip of water, you recover and roll your shoulders back to stick your tits out just a little more with your chin held high at his challenge. 

After the group clears out and you hand things over to your friend, you saunter over to your two favorite professors. Sticking out a hip, you trail your eyes up the oxblood colored shirt stretched across Boba’s chest, taking in the delicious way his sharp onyx suit is tailored to his thick frame. Knowing what all is hidden underneath his clothes only makes the whole ensemble even hotter.  “Can I answer any questions about the library for you, professors?” you ask in a syrupy voice, your tone laced with dark sugar.

Gazing at you rather appreciatively, Fennec answers first. “Yeah, are you free later?” 

Your brows raise with a suggestive arch, biting your lip and leaning into her game. “Why, what do you have in mind?” you shoot back, letting your gaze linger on her pink lips.

She’s practically purring, running her long, graceful fingers down the length of your arm. “Why don’t you come home with me and find out, kitten?”

“Mmm sorry, no can do, Fenn,” you hum, flicking your eyes over to an amused Boba, “I already made plans with the new Mandalorian studies professor after this.”

“What? That old man?” she scoffs, flicking her intricate braid over her shoulder. 

Boba throws an elbow at her, grumbling, “We’re the same karking age, Shand.”

“Well, Fett, I guess some of us just wear it better then.”

“I don’t know, that’s not what she was moaning in my ear last weekend,” Boba replies, as smooth as Corellian whiskey and just as sinful. A jolt of arousal shoots between your thighs, his open possessiveness sending heat straight to your core. 

That remark earns a full-bellied laugh from Fennec. “Touché.” 

Another faculty member passes by and steals Fennec away, allowing you to slip into her spot next to Boba and press your arm against his. While you don’t intend to hide your more-than-professional relationship with him, you don’t want to draw judgment down on either of you. “Fenn make you a little jealous?” you tease, bumping your elbow against him.

He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not when I know you’re coming home with me, princess.” He slips a hidden hand between you and the wall to skim his fingertips down your back to settle his palm just above the swell of your ass, making your skin light up with the sensation of him. “It’s good to see you, babygirl, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it before the reception started,” he adds in a sweet, low voice, pressing a quick kiss into your hair. “And your presentation was excellent.”

You lean into him for just a heartbeat, savoring his affection before breaking away. The heated pulse between your thighs spurs you on. “Oh, you were actually listening? Looked to me like you were peeling this dress off me in your mind.”

“I heard you're supposed to imagine everyone else naked to do public speaking.”

You smack his arm, giggling. “That’s if you’re the speaker!”

“Ah well, it was worth it anyways,” he grins at you. Seeing a group approaching, he regretfully takes his hand off your back.

A few faculty from the biology department come over and greet you, its ever-affable head, Professor Bernard, pressing a glass of champagne in your hand. “The department of biology’s honorary member needs a drink!” he proclaims with a hearty laugh before clapping a hand on Boba’s shoulder, telling him, “Come see this one here if you need anything. She’s found papers and journals I didn’t even know still existed!”

“I’ve heard she has some… special skills,” Boba answers with a quirk of his lips.

Catching the tone gilding his words, you slide your gaze over to him and see that same mischievous twinkle in his eye. Oh, so it’s going to be like that then? Hope he knows what he’s started. The conversation continues as introductions are made on both sides and stories of the first week of classes are shared.

“You didn’t get stateside until a few weeks before the semester? How on earth did you manage to get everything done, old sport?” Bernard questions.

“Oh, that would be thanks to me,” you interject, grinning at the ensuing laughter, “Lucky for Professor Fett here, I was able to work very closely with him to get everything he needed.”

“And for that, I am eternally grateful. It’s not everyday you get someone who's so eager and willing to please,” Boba replies calmly, sipping from his own drink like he’s simply discussing the weather.

You cover your scoff with your glass and drain the rest of it. “And now since he owes me one, I’ve got him at my mercy. Just where I like him.”

“Looks like you’re in for it now, my friend!” the old biology professor guffaws, grasping Boba’s hand in a firm shake. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fett. Stop by my office for a drink some time.”

The group moves on to the next familiar face in the crowd, leaving you and Boba alone. “Better watch it, princess,” he rumbles, enticing danger coating his words, “Or I won’t show you any mercy later tonight.”

With a cursory glance to confirm that no one is watching, you brush your lips over his ear, just enough to raise chill bumps on his tan skin. “Oh, professor,” you whisper, sordid and low, “that’s what I’m counting on.”

Though he’s never confirmed it in so many words, you know your professor likes to watch you play your little games, talk and flirt and ensnare yourself so deep in your own undoing you have no choice but to beg him for mercy when the night is over. He’s the patient hand of justice to your calculated subversive impulse, the solid weight to balance your scales. He’s the rock you scrape your match against to set your passions ablaze. 

You’d learned to build bonfires, great roaring things, on the summer camping trips you’d taken with your cousins as a kid. You were even quite good at it, the framing of the timbers and the flick of the wrist necessary to strike the flint coming naturally to you. Maybe that’s why you were so good at burning through Boba’s patience with slippery innuendos and heated looks.  

You know building a fire takes time; seasoned wood must be gathered, tinder procured, a spot cleared for the blaze, all this before the pyre can be built stick by stick. If constructed correctly, the dry litter would catch the struck spark and burn bright and hot, igniting the kindling to crackle and snap, eventually spreading the growing flames to the larger logs for a sustained burn. If the ratio of smaller sticks and thicker pieces was off or the build of the bonfire didn’t allow enough oxygen in to feed the early feeble flames, then the pyre would be nothing more than a smoking pile of cold wood. And that would not bring Boba to a boil, make him spill over hot and scalding in vexed passion. 

His restraint and control were truly commendable. To his credit, he’d spent the larger part of the evening calmly watching you work the room during the baccalaureate reception, gifting smiles and glittering laughs to men who didn’t deserve them and to women who wouldn’t actually do anything with them, even if they wanted to. You are in your element and you know it, making you not only powerful but dangerously so.

Taking a sip of the sparkling flute of champagne pressed into your hand by the one of the history department, you let your eyes wander around the vibrant space, taking in the celebratory atmosphere around you as laughter and animated conversation twine together in a lively buzz. You take your time in your survey, knowing that your gaze would eventually land on what it sought. You spot Selena next to one of the exquisite floral arrangements decorating the room laughing with one of the film professors and Fennec leaning against one of the polished marble columns in deep conversation with a pretty woman with sparkling eyes. Looks like I’m not the only one going home with somebody tonight.

Finally, your languid scan of the party falls on its target: a certain Mandalorian studies professor. He looks truly glorious under the glistening chandeliers illuminating the library, they cast a soft, warm glow that makes his bronze skin gleam and scars glint with tantalizing effect. It’s his eyes, however, that make your knees go weak: they shine dark and expressive, the umber of them always on you no matter where you found yourself in the room. If eyes really are the windows to the soul like they say, then Boba Fett has a soul like the ocean, with unknowable depths and enough pressure to break bones, towering waves that doom sailors and hidden currents that whisk the unsuspecting into the abyss.

Gods above, you want to drown in him even if it takes calling down Poseidon's wrath to do so. You’ve built your pyre, now all that’s left is to light it. 

Putting on your most dazzling smile, you sidle over to the drinks table to casually “bump” into Professor Lancaster, the admittedly handsome 30-something hot shot bachelor of the university faculty. “Oh, I am so sorry!” you apologize in a breathy rush, immediately grabbing a napkin to dab at the splash of champagne on the young man’s suit jacket. The look of surprise on Lancaster’s face swiftly morphs into opportunistic pleasure when he sees that the person with their hands on him is the young research librarian in a tight dress.

He grins. It’s a scavenger’s smile, hungry for a kill that isn’t his. “No worries, bright eyes. You okay?” 

“Better now that I’m with you.” His brows shoot up and, you’re absolutely sure, so does his dick based on the way his pupils dilate. “Sorry,” you giggle, fluttering your lashes, “too much?”

You can feel how his greedy gaze slides over your exposed skin in open interest. “Maybe not enough,” he winks, “Let’s get you another drink.”

You spend the next twenty minutes at the young professor’s side as he slowly inches you towards the side door by circulating from one group to another under the guise of “making introductions”—like you didn’t already work at the university. The entire time you sneak peeks at Boba watching your antics with rapidly decreasing levels of patience. Eventually, you lose sight of him behind a cluster of English professors.

You’re literal feet from the exit when Lancaster slides a hand down to your waist, tugging you against his side by your hip bone. “What do you say, bright eyes? Wanna get out of here?”

The pompous look on his face tells you everything you need to know about this man: he’s used to getting what he wants and he’s not afraid to take advantage of your possible inebriation to get it. He’s disgusting. Suddenly, you’re very conscious of how much you dislike this man and consider slamming your heel down on his overpriced loafer. Before you get the chance, however, a familiar deep voice sounds from behind your back.

“Excuse me, I have some business with this one here.” Boba’s voice leaves no room for disagreement, at least if one was smart enough to know it.

Lancaster, unsurprisingly, is not. “We were just leaving,” he says dismissively with an annoyed expression, reaching to turn you towards the exit, “It’ll have to wait.”

“Don’t think it can,” Boba responds flatly. He grabs your bicep and peels you out of his grasp. Ignoring the younger man’s sputtering as he leads you down one of the hallways branching off from the atrium, going far enough that the noise from the reception starts to fade off. Rounding the corner into the stacks, he abruptly flattens you against the wall, caging you in and pinning you with his hips. 

If his slight manhandling of you before had you wet, this has you soaked: his thick forearm rests on the wall next to your head while his other hand remains locked around your upper arm, just tight enough to remind you it could bruise if it got any tighter. His hips, however, are likely to leave their mark on yours—it’s all enough to drive you nearly insane with desire. You’re too hot for your own skin and Boba is radiating enough heat to brand you and melt your brain like wax.

“Not so brave now, are you, little princess?” Boba croons, licking his lips like he can taste your salt on his tongue. “Now that you’ve got nowhere to run and no pretty boys to bat your lashes at.” His muscular thigh pushes its way between your own and he grinds up into your center, forcing a moan up behind your teeth.

“I have… no idea… what… you’re talking… about,” you gasp, writhing on his thigh as your hands fly out to fist his suit jacket in a gnarled grip. You can feel your brain melting down the sides of your skull under his piercing gaze.

“Oh, you don’t?” he mocks, “Well let me enlighten you then, sweetheart. You spent the entire evening driving every man and the women Shand didn’t get to first out of their minds with your pretty little face and flirty little mouth. And all for what, to get my attention?” 

You’re burning so hot you can’t even think, much less get your tongue to unstick to form a coherent sound, so all you can answer with is round, shiny eyes and a shiver.

“Well, now you have it, princess,” he continues, a predatory smirk slashing across his dark features that makes your insides twist with his danger. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“I-I was just having fun,” you manage, your voice coming out hoarse and pitchy. Boba’s pressed so far into you that you’re scraping along his thigh as you ride it.

He grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. “She says she was ‘just having fun…’” he mumbles to himself as if the thought is amusing to him. You flash a tentative smile in hopes of sweetening him up, but the lurid flash in his eyes signal that it’s far too late for such mercy. “If that’s what you do for fun, princess,” he hisses out the pet name, “then it looks like I need to keep you on a shorter leash.” Releasing your bicep, Boba’s hand wraps around your throat faster than your muddled perception can register.

The strangled curse that claws up from your chest can’t even escape the confines of your throat to sound. Blood rushes to your head as your entire existence narrows down to the rough hand pressing in on your airways. You’re gushing into your panties, the amount of wetness now coating your thighs utterly obscene. Fuck he’s going to be the death of me and I want him to do it.

Boba’s rumble of pleasure at your response rattles in your own chest as he eases up on the pressure of his fingers to let you suck in desperate air, rubbing the delicate flesh underneath. “Oh, you liked that didn’t you? You like it when I’m rough, dirty girl.” His taunts are pouring fire into your bloodstream and sweat begins to slick your skin. Leering, he drags his tongue over your racing pulse point and your mind goes searingly blank. For a moment, you think you might have actually come with the way blinding pleasure floods your entire body.

“Fuck, Boba!”

A sinful chuckles drips from his plush lips into your damp skin, and he seals it away there with a wet kiss before pulling back to look into your glazed eyes. “Do you know what I do with brats who forget their place?” he asks in a timbre so low you can feel it in your bones.

This you know, you think, this you can push back on and regain some ground. “You punish them with your silly little toys and spank their asses a bit,” you spit out, your derision honed sharp as your initial surprise begins to wear off.

“Oh no, princess, you’d enjoy that too much.” An acidic laugh pours from his lips, making your blood run painfully cold, and he smiles at you like you’re struggling prey caught in his maw. “What I do,” he growls, “is I don’t let them come.”

Before the words even leave the air between you, Boba releases you and pushes away from the wall where he had you pinned. You stumble forward, your head spinning with the dizzying loss of contact and terrifying revelation. Panic sticks needles into your skin. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t, right?!

“Aww, is that not what you were expecting, sweetheart?” Boba asks with a crushing amount of false sympathy, chucking up your chin on two fingers. You’re coming apart at the seams and he loves it. “Thought you could pull one over on me?”

Heart pounding against your ribs, you race to figure a way to repair your situation, one that ended up with him fucking you through at least one orgasm. Kark, why did I think this was all a good idea again? Gods I’m so kriffing wet I can’t think. Come on… focus, focus!  The second you get the idea you act on it, wasting no time debating its worth.

You drop to your knees right in front of him, yanking him forward by his belt buckle. Boba catches himself against the wall with an outstretched arm and a curse, his smug expression shattered by genuine shock. As he stares down at you with wild eyes, you grin a wicked thing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that not what you were expecting?”

Boba stares at you like you’ve remade his entire universe, his broad chest heaving under the straining buttons of his shirt. Sucking in a ragged breath, he hauls you to your feet and slams into you, his hand cupping the back of your skull so it doesn’t hit the wall when his lips crash into yours. You pulse and throb into one another, your every breath melting into his as your hands claw into clothes seeking the heat of the other. He becomes you and you become him as time stops moving—if only for a minute. 

“Baby, princess, angel,” Boba moans into your mouth, “I gotta have you, I have to have you right fucking now. Go to your office and start touching yourself. Get yourself nice and ready so I can slide right into that perfect cunt as soon as I get you home. I’m going to pull the car around.”

Your panties don’t even make it into the house: Boba literally tears them off you as soon as he puts the car in park in his driveway, stuffing them into his pants pocket and promising to buy you a hundred more so he can do it again. Stumbling with you up the blessedly short path to his front door with a handful of your ass, Boba jams his key into the lock and you both tumble in the door, lips still connected. “Shit, aren’t you always good for a surprise?” he pants between kisses, fumbling with the door bolt until it locks behind him. “Dropping to your kriffing knees in the library. Kark, couldn’t even punish you after that, my bold little princess. Made me too fucking hard.”

Your lips smile against his as you push his jacket from his shoulders. “You just bring it out of me, sir, I-I can’t help it. Couldn’t stand the thought of not having you.” Boba groans at the epithet and you start pulling open his buttons with shaking hands. “That’s why I do it… can’t help myself, just want you so kriffing bad.” When you reach his pants at the end of his shirt, he snatches your wrists and spins you so your back is shoved against the door.

“You’re so good to me, so fucking good. Even when you’re a brat, you’re my little angel, doing it all for me. Maker, you’re perfect.” Boba snags the hem of your dress and bunches it over your hips, allowing the cool air access to your slick folds and making you shiver. “Good girls get rewarded, don’t they, princess? Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to make you feel so, so good, give you the reward you deserve.”

Your desire-dazed brain can’t decide whether to focus on the stream of filth pouring forth from his mouth or his lips as they kiss over your dress and down to your soft belly as he comes to kneel in front of you. Effortlessly tossing your leg over his shoulder while balancing you against him, Boba steadies your body with his hands on your hips. “Will you let me return the favor, pretty girl? Will you let me lick up this perfect pussy?”

Smiling down at him with lust-blown eyes, you answer in a breathy laugh. “But I didn’t even actually suck you off.”

“Bet you would have, though, princess, if I had let you.”

Fuck, he’s probably right. You weren’t kidding when you said you can’t help yourself. “Yeah, I would have,” you giggle, “Why didn’t you?” The thought of slipping his thick cock in between your lips when all those other people were just a hallway away sends a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your core.

“Mmm because I want to hear every single sound that comes out of your mouth tonight… and none of those fuckers deserve to even think about you, much less hear those sweet noises you make when you’re coming apart.” Boba begins layering sloppy kisses over your thighs and abdomen, circling ever closer to your drenched center. His dark eyes flick you to capture yours in a heated gaze. “Let me hear it, pretty baby, can I eat this sweet cunt?”

Lacing your fingers with his hand on your opposite hip, you lean your head back on the door. “Please, sir, please let me have your tongue.”

The words don’t even finish leaving your lips before he dives into between your legs, groaning like a man starved getting his first meal in months. The sounds of his slurping and sucking have your knees giving out almost immediately, rapturous pleasure consuming your entire being. All that exists is the way his tongue fucks into you, the way his lips wrap around your aching clit and how he pulls moans deep from within your stuttering chest. When his thick, calloused fingers push inside your weeping heat and curl, your hand slaps over your mouth to stifle a ragged scream as explosions of color blur your vision.

Boba claps his palm against your ass and pops off your clit. “Don’t you fucking dare cover that mouth of yours. I want to hear everything, sweetheart, I want you to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood with how good I make you feel.” 

The torturous coil in your belly tightens to a delicious pain and you let your pleasure be heard, your jaw falling slack as your head tips back against the heavy wooden door. Boba redoubles his efforts, cursing and praising, sucking and licking, twisting you tighter and tighter around your own desire until it’s almost unbearable. When a third finger slips into you, it feels like the floor drops from beneath your feet and you know you're doomed to your desire. “Please, can I-can I-”

“Fucking come all over me,” he growls straight into your clit, digging so deep into you think you see the Maker.

A wail tears free from your chest, echoing off the walls and vibrating in your skull as you dissolve into pure pleasure, raw and vulnerable against the mountain of his body. To be so ethereal and untouchable in his arms is a new, divine dimension of your ecstasy that heals you even as you fall apart into a soaked, quivering mess. 

“Nau’ul be kar’ta,” Boba coos in a voice like crushed velvet, rich and dark, “my beautiful, perfect girl, come here.” You collapse in a trembling heap into his waiting arms, your mind nothing but a plane of warm, fuzzy bliss. You’re lifted and arranged in his lap by impossibly strong hands as you drift through the glowing stars of your high. Boba rocks you gently against his heaving chest, a stream of patient praise streaming from his lips pressed into your hair. “You did so good for me… taste so sweet, makes me want to keep you on my tongue forever… kark, bet the whole street is jealous with how loud you were, such a good girl, letting me hear that sweet voice just like I asked…”

Eventually your senses start to return and you wiggle around to straddle him, placing your molten core directly over top of his straining erection and eliciting a graveled groan from him. “Mmm, that was amazing, professor,” you hum into his throat, “Now let me return the favor.” You tug his shirt off and he lets you drop it to the floor. “I wanna go over every single tattoo on your body with my tongue until it’s all I can remember.” 

“Kark, you’re filthy, princess,” he groans, his cock twitching with interest underneath his pants as hauls you up with him off the floor. By the time you stagger to the bedroom, your clothes are gone, littered in a trail from the door to his room. Seizing your opportunity, you shove him back on the mattress and hop on top of him, pushing a grunt from him that makes you giggle. “Easy, little one, I’m not as young as I once was,” he grits out between your kisses.

Grinning into the thick muscle of his pec, you nip at the ink you just traced with your tongue. “Sorry, I forgot I have to be careful with you, old man.” Boba pinches your ass and you squeak, though you remain unrepentant.

“You must want me to be mean to you tonight, sweetheart.”

You continue licking and sucking over the dark swirling patterns on his chest. “Mmm, maybe I do.” While you’d never been much for that sort of thing before, none of those men before had been Boba. If his praise is sweeter than honey you can only imagine how delicious his ire would be, and something hot sparks between your legs. “But I wouldn’t want to wear you out, old timer.”

A dangerous, low chuckle emanates from the ribs under your lips and your insides twist into knots. “You really know how to bring it out of me, don’t you, naughty princess? I think you really do want me to be mean, want me to treat you just like how you’ve been acting all evening.” Snatching you against his chest, he grabs your jaw in a tight grip. “Tell me, little one, is that what you want? You want me to call you names and remind you who you belong to?” He brushes his thumb over your cheek in a small show of affection that reminds you this is all a game, and you can call it off if you want to. It makes your heart sing—and your pussy clench.

“Yes, Boba,” you rasp, molten desire pumping hot and heady under your heated skin, “I want that, please.” You’ve accepted the fact that Boba Fett makes you want things that you never have before, sinful things that make your cheeks burn and heart race. It’s a forbidden fruit that the professor is all too willing to indulge you in, him licking up its sweet juice as it dribbles down your chin.

“Anything you don’t want me to call you? Any limits you want to set?” he questions, his voice taking on that firm, guiding tone he always used when he worked through things with you. 

Chewing your lip, you consciously slow your breath like how Boba taught you so you can focus in the moment when you’re all worked up. “Don’t call me ‘bitch’ or anything too serious like that. ‘Whore’ and ‘slut’ are fine though.”

He nods, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Remember to stop me if you don’t like something, babygirl, I’ll never be upset if you do. What’s our word?”

“Kamino,” you answer dutifully, wriggling a little in your excitement, desire licking up your thighs—your evening-long machinations were about to come to fruition.

“Good girl,” he praises, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The dominant, possessive side Boba tucked away during your discussion returns tenfold more wicked now that it’s all decided. He sits up, taking you with him as drops down into the armchair against the wall. “Then get on your knees,” he sneers, “You want to act like a whore, throwing yourself at everyone who shows you any interest in that tight little dress you had on, I’m going to treat you like one. I want you sucking my dick like that’s all you know how to do.”

You drop so fast it makes your head spin, allowing your base desire to freely submit. You undo his belt with hungry fingers, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants to reveal his half-hard girth. Instead of yanking down the last barrier separating him from your tongue, you run your nails up his thighs and drag your open mouth over his growing bulge over his underwear, pulling a hiss from his lips.

“I didn’t say tease me, girl,” he admonishes, though he’s fully hard now, straining against the confines of the fabric still on him. “If you do as you’re told, maybe I’ll think about giving that pussy what I know it needs.”

You moan into him, his cock jumping at the feeling. You tear down his underwear and his beautiful cock springs forth, proud and already leaking. “Fuck,” you exhale as you take him all in, “you’re so big.” Kark, I swear he’s even bigger than last time.

“Aw, don’t be scared, sweetheart, I like it when they choke,” he taunts with a cruel chuckle that goes straight to your sopping cunt. He pumps his tanned length a few times and your mouth waters at the sight of it. “Now open up that pretty mouth.”

Your jaw drops open and you stick your tongue out, wide and ready, your hands folded in your lap. Wiggling in anticipation, you blink big eyes up at him through your lashes. 

“Fuck, look at you. You’re fucking filthy for me, aren’t you? On your knees right where you belong, tongue out like the good little slut you are. Go ahead, princess, I know you want it.” He smacks the head of his cock on your waiting tongue and you lunge forward, ravenous for more of him. He groans as you swirl around his frenulum, lapping off the pearls of precum waiting for you. Your hands travel up his thighs and he releases his grasp to let you replace it with your own.

Cupping his balls, you plant wet, sloppy kisses down his length, pleased when you feel the slightest tremble in his thighs. Peeking up at him, you find Boba looking down at you, his eyes pitch black and voracious in their desire. Keeping your gaze fixed on him, you lean in and pepper kisses around his base before flicking your tongue out to drag along the seam of his balls.

“Shit-fuck!” His right hand flies to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Kark, you’re dirty,” he rasps, tugging your face back a little to look in your eyes. 

You grin up at him, spit already dripping down your chin. “Just for you, sir.” Your voice is breathy, your chest already heaving from exertion. 

“Good girl, learning her place already. Now finish this up for me, little princess, I still have to fill that pussy full so everyone knows just who you belong to.” The whimper that falls from your lips would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so turned on you can barely form a thought that isn’t concerned with getting his dick inside you. “Aw, does that make you wet, pretty baby?” he mocks, clearly enjoying your depraved reactions. “You like it when I talk to you like you’re my personal whore, my warm mouth and tight little pussy to take whenever I feel like it?”

You pull at the hand holding you back by your hair, desperate to have him down your throat, desperate to cry and gag at the size of him. Boba chuckles, deep and pleased in his chest and loosens his grip so you can get him back in your eager mouth. Once you have him heavy on your tongue, you hum happily and begin bobbing your head over his velvet length, gradually taking more of him into your mouth. Boba’s hips stutter when you slide your tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock, triggering your gag reflex. 

You try to swallow down the suffocating feeling, but the sheer girth of him makes your throat close up. Choking and coughing, you pull off of him, tears beading in your lashes and spit running down your neck. Boba takes your face in his warm, calloused hands and tilts your face up to him. “Everything okay, little one? Too much?” he asks, concern lining his handsome face.

“No,” you pant, voice already ragged, “‘s perfect, just caught me by surprise.” You smile up at him then turn your head to kiss his palm. He’s so good to you that it makes you ache.

He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the moisture collected on your lashes. “Okay, I want you to tap me anywhere three times if you need to stop. It’s the same as our word if you can’t speak. Can you say that back to me so I know you understand?” You nod, repeating back the information. “That’s my good girl,” he beams, “Now I think there’s something you need to finish.”

You’re on him in an instant, guiding him back into your waiting mouth hungrily. As much as you love licking and sucking up and down his cock, slurping and swirling with abandon, what you really want is to do is take him to the hilt and swallow him down until he loses control. Taking what hasn’t made it past your lips in hand, you start pumping him and twisting your wrist, your fingers sliding easily over his spit-soaked skin.

“Fuuuu- that’s it,” he grunts, “look at you taking me so well. You must really want me to fuck you, my filthy little princess, must really want- shit.” He hisses, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall when slide enough of him in your mouth to take your hands off him to rest them on his hips. You look up to see his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched, and you hum appreciatively around the thickness stuffing your mouth, “Osik, d-do it, I know you can take it all, sweetheart. Do it for me and-shit-and I’ll fuck you so good I’ll be dripping from your pussy for days.”

You moan, your throat relaxing to take the last inch and you swear you could’ve come just from the sound that ripped free from his chest if it didn’t take all your brainpower to keep him seated in your mouth.

“Kark-fucking-stars above,” Boba chokes out, his free hand coming to guide you up and down his cock at a steady pace, “Look at you taking it all, I’m so proud of you, so p-proud, fuck, pretty girl.” His eyes are locked onto where he’s disappearing over and over again into your open mouth.

Blinking up at him with watery eyes, you swallow around his thick cock and he snarls. He tugs you off him and pulls you up into his arms, kissing you like he needed you to breathe and walking you both back until your thighs hit the bed. It feels like he’s everywhere, his tongue filling your mouth, his hands grabbing every inch of you as his hips pin down your own. “Shit, open up those legs for me, princess, I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

You fall back on the mattress, letting your thighs fall open. “Please, sir,” you gasp when two of his thick fingers slide inside you with no resistance.

Boba groans, the sound so deep it feels like it rattles in your own. “This fucking wet just from sucking my dick. Kark, you’re really a whore for an old man aren’t you, sweetheart?” You can only moan in response, clenching around his rough fingers and keening into him, unable to communicate any more of an answer than that. “Cockdumb already, little princess? Here I thought you were my big girl… maybe I should just go back to fucking your mouth if you’re not going to use it. You certainly were eager to run it earlier though, weren’t you? Talking to all those other men like they could possibly make your sweet little pussy feel like I can.”

His thumb finds your clit and you cry out, arching into him. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me, please give me your cock!” Your head is snatched back by your hair, making a high whine catch in your abused throat at the sudden movement.

“You know better than to say my name,” he threatens, his rasp dangerously low. “Mmm, since you suck cock so good I’ll let it slide this one time, but you had better not forget again, little girl. You hear me?” Boba’s eyes are ablaze with dark fire, the intensity of him burning with the heat of a dying star, sucking you into his inescapable gravity. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you whimper. His scalding words are going to make you come apart at the seams just as much as his fingers.

“Oh, you will be.” He pulls out you with an obscene squelch, a trail of your arousal connecting him to you. “Look at that, my princess wants it so bad. She wants anything I fucking give her. Isn’t that sweet? No, you know what, don’t answer that. Be a good little slut and clean this up for me.” He pushes his slick coated fingers past your swollen lips and you moan at the tang of your own arousal, your heady taste spreading over your tongue as you suck his fingers clean. He removes his hand from your face, the digits in your mouth coming out with a lewd pop.  

Lining himself up with your dripping slit, Boba takes your face gently in his large hand, the caress so much softer than his previous words. “Hey, look at me, babygirl.” You slide your gaze up his broad chest to find his sable eyes. “You good? Everything okay? I know I usually prep you a little more than this.”

“Yeah, s’good. I’m so fucking wet, bet you’ll slide right in,” you giggle, slurred and happy. Truthfully, you hope it’d hurt a little, just enough so that you’d feel it tomorrow—a secret reminder that you were his.

Boba gives you a smile, a real smile bright and shining, not one of his mean ones from your game. “Okay, little one. Remember you can say your word or tap me three times if it gets to be too much. I don’t want my princess hurting.”

Golden affection blooms in your chest even as you give him a sassy little salute. “Yessir.”

“Maker, what am I going to do with you?” he huffs, exasperated. The twinkle in his eye betrays him, however.

“Hopefully, fuck me.”

“As you wish, brat.” Boba slots his lips over yours and slides into your heat, inch by inch as you moan into each other’s mouths, completely enraptured with the feeling of one another. When he pulls back to sink in further, he hisses out a curse. “How’re you always so fucking tight? Shit, you feel so fucking good.”

The way he’s slowly splitting you open makes your eyes roll back in your head, your hands scrabbling across his shoulders for purchase. “Fuck, you’re going to tear me in two… don’t stop,” you whine. The stretch around his cock burns, quickly fizzling into hot pleasure that makes you crave more, deeper, harder. It’s ungluing the edges of your mind, pushing your good sense out of your skull one thick inch at a time. Tears prick your eyes at the delicious strain, your teeth biting down on Boba’s lip as he pushes flush with your hips. You’re not sure if the guttural moan is his or yours or both combined, you’re so full of him.

Boba snaps his hips, jolting you further up the bed and setting a harsh pace that has your legs shaking around his hips. You’re burning, melting, screaming, completely wrecked by his pleasure. He’s leaning over you now, an arm bracing himself next to your head as he drills into you with unwavering force. Tearing his lips from yours, he licks a searing stripe up your neck that makes you clench around his pounding thrusts. “Fuck, you think that boy can fuck you like this? Think he can stretch you out on his cock and make you cry and beg for him? Hmm?”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Whimpering, you shake your head. “N-no, s-sir, only you! Onlyyouonlyyou, fuck, only you!” 

“Fuck, you’re dirty, aren’t you? Ready to suck my dick with all those people there, riling me up all night so I’d take you back here and fuck you like the slut that you are for me. That’s right, isn’t it? Yeah, I know it is. You’re such a good little slut for me, taking my cock like that’s all you were made for. Kark, I bet you’d let me fuck you in front of all of them wouldn’t you, my filthy little princess?”

You moan, raking your nails down his back and making him curse in pleasure. “I w-would do anything, you feel so good, fuck, I would let you do anything to me! Just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

 “You want it, huh? You want me to fuck you and make you all mine, fill up that tight little cunt and so my cum runs down your legs? You gonna take every drop I give you like the good little girl I know you are?”

“Yes, sir, please,” you sob, overwhelmed by the rough drag of him against your collapsing walls and his skin burning into you with each thrust of his powerful hips.

“Then tell me who this pussy belongs to, I wanna hear you say it so you never karking forget it again.”

“You, you, it belongs to you!”

“Say my name, princess, say my fucking name.”

“Boba! It belongs to you, Boba Fett, I’m all fucking yours, Boba, please!”

He pulls back, grabbing the back of your thighs and shoving them up, folding you in half. Slamming back into you, he slides a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, maddening circles. 

“More, please more!” you beg, clawing at his free hand until he lets you have it, and you place it on your throat. 

Boba growls, wrapping his fingers around your neck and squeezing so that your world narrows down to just the feeling of him. Finally just him and nothing else.“Osik, you’re so fucking filthy and perfect, never wanna stop fucking this sweet cunt. K’atini ner cyare!”

“I’m gonna… can I… please,” you choke out, barely holding onto the last shreds of your sanity against the onslaught of ecstasy burning through you.

Groaning, Boba covers your mouth with his. “Come for me, soak my cock, give it to me, come on, princess, I know you can do it.”

Everything goes blank, your muscles constricting and your nails digging into his shoulders. Pure, electric energy fires through your veins, overloading your senses to a searing bright pleasure that makes you understand how the universe could start with a bang. You’re rocked with two, three, more pumps that shatter your fledgling universe and then you’re flooded with the sweet heat of his release.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re conscious as you float through the glittering galaxies that flash behind your eyes in dazzling color; you’re not even sure you remember how to breathe but you must be, because your lungs aren’t protesting. The next thing you’re truly aware of is being in Boba’s arms, laying curled into his chest on the bed while his fingers scratch pleasantly against your scalp. Humming in delight, you snuggle deeper into his woody scent.

“Mmm, there she is,” he chuckles, the warm sound buzzing in his chest.

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, squeezing your eyes back shut—you want to be lost in him forever.

“Gotta come back some time, pretty girl, or I can’t get you in a nice warm bath then tuck you in bed with me,” he entreats, rubbing warmth into your limbs with calloused hands.

You consider this tempting offer; it certainly would be better than sleeping sticky all night, you suppose. “Can you bring me a snack?”

“I can bring you a snack.”

“And I can have a massage?”

Boba lets out an amused huff, giving you a squeeze. “And I will give you a massage,” he confirms.

You make a show of pondering the issue further, chewing your lip and studying the ceiling thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll allow it then, professor.”

Boba laughs again and eases you both up to a sitting position before sliding from underneath you so he can walk around to your side.

Rolling over, your thighs spread a little, and you gasp and slap them back together when you see the mess there. “Boba!” you squeak. 

“What, little one?”

“You, it-it,” you stutter, tripping over the words in your shock, “how is there so much?”

He cocks a brow and you let your legs fall all the way open. “Oh, princess,” he breathes out, his voice a strained rasp. The inside of your thighs are slick with both your cum and your folds are coated in his pearly release, the excess dripping down to soak a spot on his sheets. Boba reaches down and spreads your lower lips a little farther apart, sending more of him leaking down your slit. Boba curses and you bite down hard on your bottom lip around the moan flooding up your chest.

“Well,” he grins, smug as the cat who caught the canary, “I did tell you I was going to fill you full, princess.”  

Feeling equally refreshed and drowsy from your warm bath, you robotically go through the motions of your nighttime routine. From his bathroom mirror, you catch a glimpse of Boba where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed: he looks forlorn, his eyebrows furrowed over a pensive expression. For such a larger-than-life man, he seems almost… small. 

His pain weighs heavy on your soul, prompting a visceral reaction in your gut. The muscles in your chest tighten and your arms yearn to press him close so there would be no room for pain in his body. Flicking off the light, you pad over to him with deliberate ease as not startle him in his revelry; Boba is a hardened man, you know, but you want to nurture that slip of vulnerability he allows himself in your presence, protect it close to your own.  

He smiles when he sees you approaching, quickly papering over his melancholy expression with a happier one, but it doesn’t manage to make it to his brown eyes. He spreads his legs a little wider so you can stand between them and pulls you close with his hands on your hips. “All done, princess?”

“Yep,” you answer, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. You let a few silent seconds slip by, making way for him to speak his mind. When he doesn’t acknowledge his latent discontent, you settle back on your heels with a sigh. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or am I going to have to threaten you again?”

Boba grumbles a huff that sounds a lot like “too observant” and tips forward to bury his face in your tits, pulling you further into him. You allow him a few moments of respite, stroking the back of his neck with light fingers before easing his face up to look at you. 

“It’s nothing, really-” he starts, his expression clouded over with false reassurances.

“Don’t try that crap with me,” you cut him off sternly. Then, more gently, you add, “Please Boba, be honest with me. You help me… let me help you.”

“You know I can’t deny you,” he mumbles after a moment, defeat echoing in the back of his throat. He leans forward, and you let him rest his cheek on your chest while he silently composes his thoughts as your fingers resume their patterns on his neck. “Watching you tonight… you are so bright and young and beautiful, and I’m just an old man with a scar for a heart that never quite worked right. You deserve… so much more than what I can give you. Someone who can make their words come out right because you deserve to know how special you are, cyar’ika. Someone who doesn’t have a past like mine, a person without so many sharp edges and broken parts. I’m missing pieces and you deserve someone who’s more… whole.”

There’s true pain in his voice, the agony and strife of a man who has endured and had to bear the cost of that survival on his own, with wounds that never completely healed alongside scars that run so deep they’re etched into his bone and being. If only he knew how beautiful it made him that he never let that secret soft part of him die, you think. That despite what would have been the logical choice for anyone in his position, he chose to tuck his tenderness away for safekeeping rather than letting it wither in reality’s harsh sun.

“Boba, I want you to listen to me and listen to me good.” You take his beautiful face between your palms and trace your thumbs over his cheekbones, mimicking the affectionate gesture he often used with you. This close you can see the dark lashes around his brown eyes and all the torment held within them; it makes you physically ache to know that this man, this perfect, wonderful man doesn’t think he deserves everything good and pure because he’s roughed up and his soul has some dings in it. That it somehow precluded him from deserving the same love he so willingly gives to you despite your own imperfections.

“I love you, Boba Fett, I love every scar on your body, every bruised muscle and broken bone. I love your dark, hidden parts just as much as the ones which see the light. You know why? Because they made you who you are, they made you into the man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel beautiful and happy. You are a man of action and that’s worth far more to me than any string of pretty words ever could be. You are enough and you are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better.” 

By the way his fingers clutch into the plush of your hips, you can tell he desperately wants to believe you, that he wants to reject the jagged demon of doubt buried in his heart like old shrapnel. But Boba casts his eyes down, still unsure. 

“Do you trust that I can make my own decisions?” you ask, soft and firm, patient but unrelenting. He nods with a hum of agreement. Closing the gap between you, you rest your forehead against his creased brow, “Then let me make this one,” you whisper, kissing him until your lungs burn for air, and even then you stay on his lips for a few more lingering seconds.

Boba looks into your eyes, staring like you held all the secrets of the universe within them. After a couple of heartbeats, he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you back on top of him on the bed, making you yelp and giggle. Kissing you, he maneuvers the two of you under the blankets. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he breathes into you, the peaks and valleys of his father’s tongue rippling in your mind like cool water over rounded river stones. “Thank you for that, babygirl. I will try.”

You hadn’t yet asked him what any of the Mando’a words that slipped out of him meant, permitting him his secrets for now. Shifting your hips over his and deepening the kiss, you lick into his mouth as you lazily start to rut into him. Boba has given you a lot just now and you want to see that he’s rewarded for it.

“Little princess,” he chastens when your pace begins to pick up, “it’s late and I’m old.”

“You're not that old,” you nip at his lip, “and I’ll be on top.” You accent your offer with a grind of your hips that has him groaning at the friction between your bodies.  

“You're not a very good listener, are you?” he grunts, “Besides, I need you well rested for tomorrow. I'm taking you out on a date.”

You stop dragging your hips over his, pulling back to stare at him. “A date?! You didn't tell me that, I didn’t bring anything to wear!”

“That’s because first, I’m taking you to get some more of those little sundresses you like to tease me with so much, and then I thought we’d go to that poppy farm you showed me on your phone the other day. They have ice cream there and a lemonade stand.”

You squeal in delight, kissing Boba all over his handsome face while he smiles warmly up at you. “You are too good to me, Boba Fett!” you manage between your flurry of pecks. He puts the sun in your chest and in air in your sails, and on top of all that, he’s apparently a secret romantic.

“Princess, I'm just getting started. You mean so much to me and I'm going to do my best to never let you forget it.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you settle into his side, curling into him. “Now get some sleep, cyar’ika, I’ll be at your side, always.”

—Endnotes: I went to a poppy farm the other weekend and it was so effortlessly romantic I knew I had to write some Boba to go with it. (also don’t look at me like that, y’all KNEW this was gonna be a sugar daddy fic eventually lmao)

I've got some stuff coming up so the next posting will be two weeks out instead of one (I'm sorry 😭) but rest assured that I will be posting some extra snippets to make up for it!

Mando'a translations

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

nau’ul be kar’ta - light of my heart

ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - I love you, (lit. "I hold you in my heart forever")

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

Part I — Part II — Part III — Part V Coming June 9!

[mod-maki]

Idk if I can request again, but I’ll try it out.

If I can, may I have Makoto, Hajime and Nagito with an S/O who acts like Junko? The crazy personalities, the insane mindset, has zero logic but is actually very intelligent, talks about despair a ton, a//bus3s her sister, all that stuff.

(Not really) Plot twist!: Their S/O is just super bored with life and wants something entertaining, even if it costs their own life.

Again, if you want to decline this or anything, that’s okay. Take your time and remember to take care of yourself!

-ymlmb anon

I’m glad you tuned back in, Ymlmb anon. This request seemed nice. <3

(Also should I start adding cute pictures for the characters I write? I’m seeing everyone else do it and it got me thinking.)

Makoto, Hajime, and Nagito W/ a Junko-like S/O.

Makoto Naegi

Pretty much is unable to calm you down in the beginning of your relationship.

You’re messing with his brain! All of the despair talk and switching personalities in just 5 seconds drives him insane!

He wouldn’t express how much you make him crazy though. He’d just show exhaustion from your chaos.

He loves you so much, but he’d do anything to atleast try to change your ways.

But..he’d probably fail. So the best he could do is just refrain from getting you and the others hurt.

“Oh..You’re just bored.” Makoto scratches his head.

He would take you to amusement parks, arcades, all that stuff!

He loves going on rollercoasters! Even if he’s very afraid to go on extreme ones, he’d do it if you’d enjoy it (..maybe)!

Even if he strongly disagrees with your views, he still loves you!

Hajime Hinata

“..My God..”

He can’t look away for a second without you lighting literally everything and anything on fire.

He surely gets upset with you. He can’t handle the thought of you enjoying despair.

Why would they? You should start making sense, S/O!

But deep down, he knows he can’t change your thought process. It’s upsetting to think about but it’s true.

Very much like Makoto, he really wants to keep both you and the rest safe. He doesn’t want any harm being done.

To keep you entertained and busy, he brings you…

*Drum roll*

….Board games.

You looked bored out of your mind, so he decided to bring you to a movie theatre instead!

But that wouldn’t go well, after in the middle of a movie you decided to yell out spoilers for it.

It was something small for you, and you would usually go all out.

But the two of you ended up getting kicked out.

He was sad and slightly angry sure, but he knows that it’s just you. So in the end, he lets you have the privilege of choosing we’re to go (There are a lot of rules made by him on where to go, mind you).

Nagito Komaeda

Say sike right now.

You like being despair to others? Okay let’s see about that.

At this point, he relies on his luck more times than before.

Whenever you two are together, it’s a cycle of you creating chaos, to his luck contradicting it.

You set fire in a beautiful garden? That’s okay. Shortly after, he comes along and rain falls from the sky.

Nagito knows that his luck can go after the despair you bring. That similarly works with his luck cycle aswell.

The despair you bring can make people’s hope shine ever so brightly soon after!

Yeah, both of your guys’ brains are messed up.

He’s so upset with you being on depair’s side and he’d go to very far lengths to change that.

Every time you start rambling about despair, he’d start talking about how amazing hope is afterwards.

Think of it as a competition of persuasion.

He figured that you’re only like this because it fills your boredom.

Someone like him can’t entertain his love in anyway, right?

Well, his luck seems quite interesting to you. The way it comes so unexpectedly and how extreme it can be.

He has mixed feelings, but atleast he doesn’t have to do anything that really harms people (For the most part).

He loves you but absolutely hates your mindset. But hey, atleast he has some solutions to the problems you bring.

[theoliviaset]

Trust Issues

Foxy post. This is gonna be full of cussin'. CW for abuse, fakeclaiming, and religion. Consider giving it a read if you're feeling resilient enough rn, and want to know how the syscourse can harm a traumatized system.

[Also holy shit you sure love to roleplay your alters wtf. I know what co fronting is but you chose to not edit out the random unrelated thoughts and that's creepy. Unless you did that as a logical fallacy. Then its creepy and manipulative.]

Okay, so this has fucking been bugging me for a while now. Since longer than Faye's post about ableism went up. Since I figured out who I am really. It's been bugging me just how much a traumatized set of girls have been abused by this very fucking tactic.

So I don't have, let's say, conventional beliefs about my existence. It's certainly not in contradiction to any physical or psychological theories out there. It's just a spiritual belief. Akin to other beliefs about the nature of the soul. But it's... out there by conventional standards.

Of course, this belief doesn't change much how I interact with the world. I don't act like I have magic powers or like I can do extraordinary things. I don't go around harming people because I think I know what awaits me after we kick the bucket. I don't bring our vessel any closer to annihilation because I would rather be home than here. And all of that is true of many religious people. We can coexist with those with different beliefs without much in the way of problems so long as we continue to respect people and call out or fight injustice.

But I'm the only one in this head that has this belief. I'm not the only one with different spiritual or religious beliefs mind you, just the only one who is this unconventional.

Right now, you might be wondering what it is that I believe and why the fuck I'm talking about it so vaguely. Well you're not going to find out right now, because that's part of this whole fucking problem. You see, if I were to tell you what I think about how I got here, a sysmed would come along and fake claim us all to hell. In spite of the fact that I don't even fucking disagree that I'm formed by trauma.

Here's the fucking thing though. Although I may be perfectly comfortable telling intolerant assholes to fuck themselves six ways to Sunday with a cactus, I am not the only one in here. I don't get to make that executive decision.

Wanna know why?

Fucking trauma. The thing that sysmeds are trying to protect systems with from being harmed. (Oh and also ableism, cause this trauma comes from ableist assholes who have never respected our autistic brain).

If you didn't know, a thing that happens to "different" people often enough is that they get abused, ridiculed, and made to feel lesser because of those differences. All of that ill treatment can lead to trauma. Trauma that ingrained a fear response into some members of this system. That fear response violently takes away the autonomy and executive control of anyone who would step out of line and expose the system to further ill treatment.

There's a true saying we heard the other day: "Hurt people hurt people." This system is filled with hurt people. We work together and get along most days. But the disordered part of our disorder comes from the fact that trauma has built in us some survival responses. The primary of these responses has been to avoid confrontation at all costs. Better to say nothing than to say something that could be interpreted in any way as to lead to further abuse.

I've had to deal with that survival response coming from Moxie and Faye so many times. So many paragraphs of text deleted by them forcing their way into the fingers and holding down that backspace key, "People wouldn't understand what you wanted to say anyway." So many times spent frozen staring at the screen knowing what I want to say, "But if you said that, we'd be labeled 'crazy' for sure." So many times having a lump in this body's throat, "If you say that they won't be our friends anymore." And over and over and over again, "Really, what would the neighbors think."

It's abuse. Plain and simple. If a child were trying to be themself, and a parent constantly put them down and stopped them, we would rightly look at that as an unhealthy environment for a growing mind. If an adult were stopped from expressing their own opinions to save their partner's image, we would call that relationship abusive. And so too is it abusive to be trapped in the same head as someone who can take away your ability to talk to the rest of the, all because of what people "might think". Hell, the first few months after I got here I wasn't even allowed to think about what I believe without being bombarded with challenges to my sincerely held spiritual belief; shit that the fucking aspiring minister doesn't get slapped with. Hurt people hurt people, and these bitches are fucking hurt.

You wanna know what happened to us when we were working on that essay? Faye was rehearsing it (as you autisticly do) and I interrupted faer to bring up some of the arguments that we've heard from sysmeds. Fae invited me to help faer out. That was fucking nice. I don't get chances to do a whole lot here. We chatted all day about how that essay was going to go with me acting as the sysmed arguing with faer. I laughed when we did the bit at the beginning where she shushed me for talking about our creative process. She left that in because fae knew how much I enjoyed her reaction. She hoped someone else would get a chuckle too.

But of course, there was a nagging feeling coming from Mox that we shouldn't leave it in; that we shouldn't even bother letting me roleplay the sysmed. If we posted that stuff then people would fakeclaim us, or disbelieve us, or the joke would fall completely flat. But she managed to keep that feeling from overwriting any of our autonomy. She managed to put her trauma response aside to let us express ourselves and have fun.

And the fucking sysmed in the screenshot just told her that she was fucking wrong for that. Expressing ourselves freely is bad. Trying to share a peak into how we work together is unacceptable. Stepping even slightly out of line is worthy of shame and ridicule. That's what we were told in 4 sentences.

Thankfully Mox and Faye are not listening to that bullshit. We're all working as hard as we can to avoid taking away each others autonomy. But being slapped with this kind of bullshit is gonna make this so much harder. Next time I try to post something, or talk to someone, someone won't be able to help but think about that accusation of "roleplaying" our headmates.

It's absolute fucking garbage that this kinda shit happens. Sysmeds aren't protecting anyone. They're causing harm. They're creating an environment where ostensibly traumatized people need to present a very narrow set of behaviors and beliefs or else they're shunned or harassed; traumatized people who've dealt with the same sort of abuse and developed the same sort of freeze/fawn combo. Anyone who doesn't fit within that precise little window is a faker (and idk about anyone else, but one manifestation of depersonalization we get hit with is "I am not real." Fakeclaiming absolutely does not fucking help with people who suffer with depersonalization).

We'll probably be called fucking fake because of this post too. I can feel Moxie's urge to hit that backspace button. I know she's not going to, because we are working on healing. But when we get fakeclaimed for this, it will be another weight around our neck making that path towards health that much harder.

And sysmeds are abso-fucking-lutely going to be to blame. So much for helping traumatized systems. Thanks for creating an environment where we cannot trust that we won't be harassed to no end. Thanks for making our trauma response a necessary survival strategy.

Anyways, fuck you. We'll never know the extent of human experience if we abuse the people trying to share their differences.

-Foxy {O}

[morganas-destiny]

One thing I love most about the "You're not Merlin" scene from 'A servant of two masters' is the fact that it's basically a callback to Merlin and Morgana in 1x01. A royal getting completely naked behind the changing screen, talking to who they think is their servant but is actually their sibling's servant (or soon-to-be servant in Merlin's case and past servant in Gwen's case). And it just makes me think, you know, like what if Morgana had like Arthur walked out, naked, to look at Gwen, only to find Merlin standing there? The logical answer would likely be a lot of screaming, quick hiding and yelling for guards, especially since she didn't know him yet. But the much funnier option would be if she reacted the same way as Arthur. Just having her brain short circuit for a moment and then going "You're not Gwen". And Merlin being like "No. No, I'm not" (I was just gonna leave it at that but I had some time to spare and wrote a little OneShot to go with it lol. Enjoy.)

Why me, was all Merlin could think. Well, that and I should have knocked. He had almost been able to sneak out of the chambers of the Lady Morgana unnoticed, after trying to imitate her maid's voice and hiding behind a dress and whatnot to avoid being caught. But of course, of course, she had decided that she wanted to speak to her maid, and friend, face to face. She had walked out from behind the changing screen and locked eyes with Merlin. And as if that hadn't been bad enough, she had still not been dressed. The king's ward just walked out on him, completely nude. Merlin silently said goodbye to his life because surely, she would scream for the guards to take him to the dungeons and soon after to the chopping block because being caught in the same room as the naked ward of the king would surely cost him head. However, that wasn't what happened. She gave a surprised yelp and grabbed behind the screen, pulling out the gown she had taken off beforehand and pressing it against her body to cover the most important parts. She stared at him wide-eyed and in his quiet panic, all Merlin could do was stare back. A few second ticked by, in which neither said anything. Then Morgana narrowed her eyes. "You're not Gwen.", she stated the obvious. Merlin blinked a few times. "Errr... no. No, I- I just-" His thoughts raced, trying to figure out how to properly explain what exactly was going on. That he never meant to spy on her or get into this situation. His eyes fell on the sleeping draught he had brought and hastily went to pick it up, almost dropping it in the process. "I just came to deliver this. I- I'm new, I came to live with Gaius and- well." He interrupted himself, because he started to trip over his own words and also because he knew; every new word only made it seem more and more like a weak excuse. He could only hope and pray now that the Lady Morgana believed him and would let him go with a warning. "Oh.", she just said though. Oh? Merlin didn't know what to do with that. He gulped, placing the little bottle back on the wooden surface and averted his eyes. His cheeks were flushing more intensely with each passing second. He could feel Morgana's gaze on him. "Do you know where she is? Gwen, I mean.", she asked. Merlin dared to look up again, then slowly shook his head. "Hm.", Morgana only hummed in response. Merlin felt close to a mental breakdown. He wished the girl would just do something. Anything. Shout at him, tell him to get out, for god's sake, at this point, he'd even willingly let the guards take him to the dungeons. Even if he would hate to do that to Gaius. Though losing his head was almost a welcome idea, compared to the terrible uncertainty of this moment. Finally, after what felt like ages, the Lady Morgana opened her mouth again. "I would like to get dressed now." Merlin wanted to cry in relief. He could go. He could go and hopefully forget this incredibly awkward, embarrassing interaction. But no, he'd rejoiced to soon. "Are you familiar with fastenings?" He blinked in surprise and confusion, not realising what she wanted from him. He thought about it. Well, growing up with only a mother meant he had helped with a dress here and there at times. Though he doubted that the simple dresses of his mother were anything in comparison to the expensive, extravagant gowns of a princess. In his helplessness and under the scrutinizing eyes of the Lady Morgana, he only shrugged. "A little." Morgana nodded, as if to say good enough. "Wait there." Merlin's eyes widened and with rising panic, he watched as Morgana disappeared behind the changing screen again. The rustling of fabric indicated that she was putting on her other dress. Nervous sweat dampened the little hairs of Merlin's hairline. This couldn't possinly be really happening. "Alright, you can come.", her voice exclaimed from behind the screen. Merlin's heart near dropped into his pants but he didn't really know what else to do than listen. So, he walked over on wobbly knees and peeked behind the screen.

Upon seeing his cautious gaze, Morgana tilted her head. "Come on. My maid's obviously not here but you are. And considering you're fully dressed, you have an unfair advantage which I can't really allow." Feisty. Unusual for a girl of her standing but Merlin wasn't going to object. He just nodded and lifted his trembling hands to brush away some of her hair, which was even softer to the touch than it looked, and began to fiddle with the fastening. It took him twice as long as necessary and something definitely looked a bit off but he figured it would have to do and stepped back. Morgana shook her hair so that the long locks could freely flow down her body again. "Thank you.", she simply said, but a small smile danced around her lips. "Hm-mhm.", was all Merlin was able to get out. "My lady?" Both of them turned their heads to the door, through which Gwen had just entered, appearing to be rather confused at Merlin's presence. "Gwen!", Morgana greeted cheerily. Then she noticed the way her maid eyed Merlin. "Gwen, this is..." She trailed off, realising that she had never actually learned the name of the stranger who had shown up in her chambers. "Merlin.", he helped out. "But, uh, we know each other." He motioned between himself and Gwen. "Really?" Gwen nodded, hardly able to surpress a giggle. "We met while he was in the stocks." Morgana seemed bewildered for a moment, thinking that she had apparently allowed a criminal to help her with her dress. Gwen, who sensed her mistress's change of mood, quickly went to add: "He's the one who stood up to Arthur." Instantly, the other girl's face lit up again. "Oh, you are?" Merlin rubbed his neck, flustered. "Well..." "He's too humble. I saw it myself. It was very brave.", Gwen grinned, coming closer to the other two. Morgana looked at him with a smirk and a twinkle in her eye. "My, my, so Camelot's very own newest hero helped me with my fastening. I'm honored." The pink in Merlin's cheeks turned bright red. "I-", he croaked out. "I should probably go. Gaius- Gaius is probably waiting for me." Morgana laughed quietly. "You may go." He resisted the urge to exhale in relief and promptly marched towards the door with large steps. "Bye, Merlin.", Morgana's voice sounded one more time behind him. Despite his better instincts, he turned around once more and of course, ran into the doorframe. The two girls stiffled their laughter. Merlin let out a short, nervous chuckle and slipped out into the hallway. As soon as he was out, he allowed himself to breathe again. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to get out of that situation alive but he was glad he did. He just hoped he wouldn't have to step under the Lady Morgana's eyes again soon. Of course he didn't know yet that with his luck, he would earn an official job in the castle as Prince Arthur's manservant just a few hours later.